


Dust and Shadows

by Theriverwatcher



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Memory Loss, Post Episode: s06e13 The Wedding of River Song, Psychological Trauma, bowties, imprint, lost diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theriverwatcher/pseuds/Theriverwatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was by her side in two steps, gripping  her shoulders and pulling her to him even as she was moving toward the door.  She shuddered between his hands.</p><p> “Something happened. Something is wrong, River. I can see it in your eyes.”</p><p>“I need to go back. Leave you to your,” she waved a hand toward the console, “travels.” She pulled herself from his grasp and tugged on the latch to the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leadworth

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wondered how long it was after Silencio before the Doctor and River saw each other again. The idea intrigued me, and I thought that it would make an excellent story.

Dust and Shadows

 

**Prologue**

Pulvis et umbra sumus. ( _We are but dust and shadow._ )”   
―Horace

 

The air was biting. It nipped at the Doctor’s nose and ears, seeping through his tweed the instant the little cottage door shut behind him, and for a fraction of a second he considered going back inside where there was warmth and food, laughter and jolly Christmas songs. Was there anything better than Christmas in Leadworth? If there was, the Doctor couldn’t think of it, and there was still time. He could go back and warm himself by the fire. He could listen to Amy instruct Rory on the best way to string the lights ‘round the tree and then grumble when he still did it his own way. He could watch River stand in the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine as she meticulously frosted cookies. But then that was the problem, wasn’t it. Watching River? The strain in her eyes and the tension in her frame, and the way she smiled and pretended that nothing was the matter. The Doctor wrapped his arms over his chest and bounced down the steps just as the first snowflakes trickled from the sky.

It had been two months since area 52. Well, two months for him, two years for the Ponds. He’d spent the better part of two months trying not to think about them, trying to convince himself that they were better off without him. They were safer, at any rate. And they spent two years living ordinary, boring lives filled with jobs and dinners, holidays by the sea. And they set a place for him every night. They never gave up, the girl who waited and her centurion. It was daft. It was brilliant.

Amy had arms wrapped around his neck before the door had even shut behind him, and the Doctor couldn’t help but hug her back, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off her feet. She felt firm and solid against him. Her haired smelled like mistletoe. Rory leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and smiling.

“Oh Pond. Ponds! I’ve missed you,” he’d cried, setting Amy back down on her feet.

She punched him in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“That is for faking your own death.” Her eyes narrowed and she hit him again. “And that is for disappearing afterward, and this…” she smacked his chest, “is for not calling to tell us you were ok.” And with that she turned and disappeared into the den, leaving the Doctor rubbing his sore shoulder and scowling after her like a scorned puppy.

“Best be glad that’s all you got, mate.” Rory clapped him on the back, perhaps a little harder than necessary, and turned them to follow. “She’s had some time to cool off.”

“And what about her?” Amy’s Scottish brogue echoed through the house, “Have you seen her, yet?”

“Oh Mother, let the poor man be. Christmas cheer and all that lot.” The Doctor tensed at the familiar voice, hearts quickening as he stepped through the threshold.

River. Beautiful River, whose smile grew by a mile when he turned to her and whose sharp eyes undoubtedly noticed the strange glisten on his cheek and still said nothing but, “Hello Sweetie.” She was wearing a tight black dress with long strands of pearls that covered her chest, falling just between her breasts. He noticed her heels had been kicked off by the corner of the sofa and she stood, hand grasping the mantle for balance as she warmed her toes by the fire.

He didn’t even fight it this time, letting his eyes make the slow sweep up her body. He enjoyed it so much he did it again. Because she was his wife, wasn’t she? He knew that now and he was allowed the privilege.

“Hello, dear,” he said, gravitating toward her like a moth to a flame. The endearment tasted like honey on his lips and he determined then to use it as often as possible. “Where are we for you then?” He ran his fingers along the pearls. They were familiar.

 She hummed, soft and low, audible only to the two of them. Her eyes remained fixed on him, watching him drink her in with a quiet satisfaction. “I just finished the Pandorica. Just left Mum and Dad’s wedding actually.”

  His face brightened. “Oh yea?”  he shoved hands into his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What’d you think of my moves?” He quirked his eyebrow in a way that sent her reeling with laughter.

 “It was a sight, my love.”

 Somewhere in the background, the Doctor was aware of whispering. A timer dinged in the kitchen and Amy and Rory hustled about. River’s eyes cut to them, watching her parents scurry off to finish dinner before turning back to him, tilting her head as she did so. “Has it really been two months since Area 52?” The teasing drained from her voice. The shift was starling enough that his own quip about her eavesdropping tendencies died on his lips. Instead, he simply nodded. “And you haven’t seen me—that me—since then?” The Doctor struggled to read her face. There was no sultry smile or mischievous glint in her eyes. Instead, tension crinkled tightly at their edge, lips parted slightly as if trying to recall a memory. But the look was there one second and gone the next, replaced by her normal facade.

Try as he might, the Doctor couldn’t get that look out of his mind. He saw it every time he looked at her. It was so obvious now, her smile, her laugh, her voice, he could see through all of it, and what he saw worried him.

The snow was falling faster by the time he made it to the TARDIS. He was standing at the front, fishing the key out of his pocket when he heard the heavy door open and shut behind him and he bowed his head further, concentrating on getting inside but his fingers were too numb to cooperate.

“Doctor?” River called to him from across the street and his eyes fell shut at the sound of his name on her lips. It was unworthy. Finally, his fingers felt the sharp outline of the key, tucked into the bottom seam of his pocket. “Doctor, what are you doing?” He tugged at the warm metal, nearly had it when an ungloved hand tucked into the crook of his arm and hauled him around. The key tumbled from his gasp and landed in the snow at their feet.

She considered him with a mixture of disappointment and accusation, with wide green eyes that saw right through him, and the Doctor felt his cheeks redden. “And what the hell is this, then?” She asked, hand tightening around his arm when he tried to pull out of her grasp. “Is this what you’re doing now? Pop in for an hour at a time, ‘Oh by the way, I’m not dead. Happy Christmas, everyone. Delicious goose, Amy.’ And out you slip before everyone’s had time to clean up the dessert plates?” 

“River…”

“Two years! They are your best friends and they haven’t seen you in two years. The least you could do is stay for a cup of tea and few carols.”

Carols. Now there was a thought. He’d always loved a good carol. Gathering around the piano with happy smiles. Oh and the hat! The jolly Christmas hats! He loved those hats, it was one of the few times Amy ever indulged him. But even as his mind wandered, considering only briefly that he could go back inside and join the festivities, River’s face, tired and strained in the moonlight reminded him that there wasn’t anything jolly about this.

 “It wasn’t…” he cut his eyes to the TARDIS, scanned the horizon over River’s head, focused on the lampposts that dotted the street, anything to keep from having to see that face. “They’re so much better off without me.” He released a breath he didn’t realize that he had been holding, the air leaving his lungs in a soft puff that clung to the chilled air.

“Are they then? We’ll I’m glad they spoke to you about it so you know where you stand.” Her voice was sharp, slicing through the chilled air with a hard edge that pulled his eyes back to her. “We’re not children, Doctor. It’s not up to you to protect us from you or ourselves. We make our own decisions.” She stepped away from him then, arms wrapped tightly around herself in an effort to conserve heat, and he realized for the first time that she wasn’t wearing a coat. He glanced down, no shoes either, and she was softly shuffling from side to side in order to flex her freezing feet.

“Alright. Ok.” He whispered, catching her before she turned away. With a flick of his wrist he’d pulled the sonic from his pocket and unlocked the door. “Let’s just get you warm, yea?” He muttered, shuffling her inside before bending for the silver key shimmering against the white snow.

“I’m sorry,” River said, stopping just inside the door, running her hands over her face to wipe the excess snow from her skin. “I just…” She fell back against the railing, shoulders hanging, “I didn’t realize that it took you so long to search me out after…” her voice trailed away, but her words clung in the air anyway. _Our wedding,_ _you waited two months before trying to find me._

“How long was it for you, then? Until you see me again.” His voice was startlingly soft as he secured the latch on the door and stepped closer to her.

River stiffened, “you know I can’t answer that.”

“Where are you? Are you safe?” She defiantly shook her head and he glared at her.

“Spoilers, love.” Finally, she turned to look at him, eyes shimmering in the low TARDIS light as she forced a hopeful grin. “Any way, it’s all up to you isn’t it? I wait as long as you decide I wait. Just… please god, don’t make me wait two years.” He was by her side in two steps, gripping  her shoulders and pulling her to him even as she was moving toward the door.  She shuddered between his hands.

 “Something happened. Something is wrong, River. I can see it in your eyes.”

 “I need to go back. Leave you to your,” she waved a hand toward the console, “travels.” She pulled herself from his grasp and tugged on the latch to the door.

 He pulled on her harder this time, succeeding in turning her around so that she faced him. She took his breath away. Her cheeks and nose were red with the Christmas air, unshed tears clung in little droplets to her eye lashes. Her jaw was set tight, determined not to shake in his presence, but did so anyway. “River…”

“You won’t find me well, Doctor.” She whispered to him, her voice shaky and thick. He stared at her, at a loss of what to do. This was a River he wasn’t used to. This wasn’t the River who battled angels and rebooted universes. This was the scared little girl running from the spacesuit. He didn’t know what to say to this River, and so he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stepped closer to her, arms pulling her shivering frame into him, only slightly warmer, as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll find you.” He promised, pulling away just as she melted into his frame. “Trust me?”

She grinned a watery smile, “always,” and swallowed thickly.

“Tell Amy and Rory that I’ll be back in an hour.”  She turned for the door, stepping outside when he leaned out and grabbed her arm. “Oh! Tell them to save the carols for when I come back. And the cocoa. And the hats!” She laughed at that, tension slowly draining from her body as she turned back to him and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“We’ll wait for you, sweetie.”

 

 

 


	2. Elion

** Chapter 1 **

Elion

“In our natural state, we are glorious beings. In the world of illusion, we are lost and imprisoned…” Marianne Williamson

XXX

It took him another three months before he finally found her in a holding cell aboard the starship Elion: floor 62A, cell 425. Solitary Confinement.

By his calculations, Elion was two weeks from docking at Gaia, headquarters for the United Galaxies League where River Song would stand trial for murder, but not just any murder. Apparently killing the last of the Time Lords came with a host of charges including a violation of the Inter-Galactic War Crimes Act of 3729. The Doctor had tried to read the offending pact twice, got bored both times and wound up with an excellent batch of chocolate banana oatmeal cookies and the highest score ever recorded for Super Mario Brothers. River was always better at reading the law than he was, anyway. And she never found herself in a scrape she couldn’t get herself out of.       

Once he’d found her, it took little effort to hack into Elion’s database, where he discovered, which great pleasure, that prison records listed her as “uncooperative.” The Doctor smiled at that, wondering what she’d done to earn the stamp. He leaned across the console, hands pressing into the smooth metal, and toe tapping a restless rhythm against the glass floor as he imagined her stretching herself along the length of the jump seat with a wink and a smile. “Guard got a bit fresh, so I bit him. That’ll teach him to put his hands where they don’t belong,” she’d quip. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never known River Song to cooperate with anything. It was one of the most frustrating things about her.  He loved it.

Flicking the monitor off, the Doctor stared at his reflection in the dead screen. He turned slightly to the left, then to the right, and eventually licked the tips of his fingers and smoothed back his fringe. Had to look good for the missus, after all.

_You won’t find me well, Doctor._

River’s words echoed through his mind, and the excited flutter in his chest turned into a shiver of panic. Those words haunted him. They echoed down the corridors of the TARDIS. They plagued his dreams. Every time he dared to forget the gravity of their last encounter, the visibility of this spoiler written on her body, weighing down her shoulders, reminded him. _You won’t find me well, Doctor._   Not once in the past three months had he a moment of peace.

He stood there for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he considered himself in the monitor. For a fraction of a second, he looked every bit of his 1100 years. Deep ridges carved into his face. His eyes darkened.  “River needs you. Don’t let her down.”he commanded himself, and tightened the bowtie around his throat for good measure. He turned for the door then.

Elion’s holding cell was deep in the heart of the ship where the electrical power, syphoned from the main breaker, meant dim lights that flickered and buzzed. It was cold and damp, the result of the cells’ proximity to the ship’s cooling unit. Thick metal doors, dotted the hallway every eight feet, dripping with condensation that pooled onto the tile floor and never dried. The air was musty and smelled of sweat and—the Doctor’s nose curled as he thoughtfully sniffed at the air and then grimaced—vomit. Still standing in the doorway, he shot a glance to the console over his shoulder, thinking for one brief moment that he might have landed somewhere else. He’d forgotten to do environmental checks after all—best not mention that to River—but a glance to his watch, wrist raise to his face and squinting in the dark corridor, told him he was exactly where he meant to be.

Elion. Floor 62 A. Wednesday May 3, 5123.

_You won’t find me well, Doctor._

River was here, somewhere, on this hallway. And just like that all the hope seeped from his body, oozing from his fingers and pooling on the molding floor. What little excitement he still had disappeared entirely. His mouth went dry and his jaw clamped shut. He took a step forward, the heel of his boot clicking against the tiles.

All hell broke loose.

The corridor burst to life around him despite the fact that the cells remained firmly sealed. But the sounds. The _sounds._ Chains rattled violently as unseen inmates moved about their darkened cells. Hands clawed at doors, cuffs banging desperately against metal. Eyes watched him from peepholes in the door, some red, some black. Manic laughter followed him down the corridor. Gnarled hands snaked out of the tray windows and snagged at his jacket, pulled at his sleeve, grabbed for his trousers as he passed. And the Doctor’s mind went still, focused on one goal—cell 425—terrified of what he would find when he got there. His footsteps grew faster, matching the cadence of his rising pulse. His eyes narrowed on the tiny row of numbers above the doors.  He heard nothing else. He saw nothing else. Not until he found his aim.

Then, he stopped.

Cell 425 was silent. There were no fingers searching for freedom, no rattling chains, no cries for help. Indeed, there was no sign of life that suggested that the cell was occupied at all. He shot another glance down the corridor—eerily noisy though seemingly deserted—before stepping closer to the metal door and lifting a shaky hand to uncover the peephole.

Two vacant green eyes stared back at him from the other side.

The Doctor jerked back in alarm, the hinge slipping from his fingers and snapping shut.  A disembodied shriek curled from the other side of the door and by the time the Doctor found his hands again, she was gone, vanished into the darkened cell. But this time he could hear her moving, the frantic sounds of a caged animal. Chains rattled, barely masking desperate pleas for escape and the panicked smack of her hands against the cell walls. “River?” He called after her, hands frantically digging through his pocket for his sonic, almost dropping it in his haste to unlock the door, and no matter how fast he moved time stood still. He couldn’t get to her fast enough.

“No, no, no…” he could hear her soft sob from the far corner of the cell. He lit the end of his sonic, encasing the small room in a dim green light which he used to outline the height of the wall, the length of the ceiling until finally, a solitary bulb burst to life in the middle of the room. It cast the center of the cell in an obtrusive golden light that grew dimmer toward the corners, but even then he could make her out, curled on her cot just outside of the light’s reach, breath fast and shallow as she clawed at the walls. Blood streaked down the smooth metal.

“River?” The Doctor felt the air leave his chest in a sudden rush, as he hurried toward her, reaching out to still her with a hand to her shoulder. She screamed again at the unwelcome touch. He jerked back, watching as her body curled in on itself, knees pulled to her chest, hands pressed to her ears, and eyes squeezing shut as if to block out his presence completely. She fell into a disjointed rhythm, rocking herself softly, and mumbling but it wasn’t until he had knelt by her cot that he was close enough to recognize her words. A children’s nursery rhyme.

“Tick… Tock… goes…. the clock.”

“River?” He whispered. She stilled at the sound of his voice, but did not open her eyes. If anything, they squeezed tighter.

“He cradled… and he… rocked… her…”

She looked like she hadn’t bathed in weeks. Her hair— that usually perfectly coiffed head of shining curls— was a greasy and frizzed mass that draped over her shoulders and obscured her face. Her skin carried traces of grime and sweat and her clothes were torn. Her wrists were shackled in chains that ran to a hook high above their heads. The fingers of her right hand were covered with fresh blood that trailed down her arm. Rage sat heavy in the bottom of his stomach. It was unconscionable, inexcusable.  The 52st century and she was no better off than had she been left to starve to death in Newgate prison 3500 years ago. And they called this civilized?

He swallowed. Hard. His voice shook as called to her again, and forced a smile to his face. It was meant to be calming, but did more to betray his fear than mask it. “Open your eyes River.”

She gasped then, abandoning her nursery rhyme. “He’s not real… he can’t… he’s not there…” her dry voice cracked over the words.

The Doctor’s brow furrowed, “Why, River? Why can’t I be here?” He leaned forward, wrapping his hands around her shoulders, thumbs smoothing over clammy skin.

“Don’t touch me!” She jerked away, arms slamming into his chest and pushing him away from her with enough force to knock him into the opposite wall. She slunk back into the corner, watching him with wide eyes that were red rimmed and bloodshot.

He held his hands up, “Ok. Alright. I won’t touch… I won’t touch you.” He struggled to right himself.  “Only tell me why I can’t be here.”

“Because you’re not real.” She whispered to him, as if sharing a macabre secret. Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re dead…I _killed_ you.”

The Doctor stared at her speechless. Did she… did she not remember? He reached for his sonic, snapping the end open and waving it over her body. She stared at the gadget listlessly, eyes brushing past him and skimming the walls of her little cell, the ceiling, the heavy metal door as if seeing her surroundings for the first time. She gave a slight sob, “I’m going mad, aren’t I?” She blinked then, and a tear trickled from the corner of her eyes, smoothing a clean path down her filthy cheek.

The Doctor frowned at the screwdriver. It was wrong, all wrong. Her timeline was twisted and kinked, doubling back on itself in unnatural ways. Parts that were supposed to be pulsing with life, vibrant with color, were darkened strains. Unreadable.

_I’ll suffer if I have to kill you._

_More than every living thing in the universe?_

_Yes._

His mouth opened but no words came. There wasn’t anything to say. Instead, he stood, pacing back and forth in the tiny cell, hands roaming over his hair and down his face. His mind working so fast he couldn’t put sentences together. How could she not remember? Area 52. The Teselecta. Her distress beacon. His mind raced through the events, from his meeting with Churchill to Giza to…. He froze suddenly, hand moving to his neck. Fingers stroked gently over the edge of his bowtie.  She was supposed to remember _._ He had counted on it.  

“Oh River, I’m so sorry.”

“’s alright,” she slurred, her voice starling in its stoicism. He turned to find her watching him, arms around her knees and head leaned against the wall. “It was why I was created after all. To kill you. That’s what she always told me.”

“Who?”

She gave a sharp shake of her head. “I don’t remember. I never remember.” She sniffed, “but she did tell me.”

“River,” he was moving back toward her then, his lanky frame towering over her in the small cell.  “I need to know the last thing you remember. Every detail, I know it’s hard, but it’s very important.”

Her head cocked in his direction, watching him kneel beside her, “It’s not hard. Not that. It’s the only thing I can remember.” He held his breath.  “I killed you. I see it every time I close my eyes. I can still feel the force of the discharge.” She lifted her hand, baring for him bloodstained fingers that were blistered and charred and he realized then that it was where the suit’s weapon’s system had burned through her glove. “Your body absorbed all of the energy. First it was there and then it wasn’t. And then you were dead.” Eyes lifted to the tall walls that towered over her. “And I was here.”

The Doctor exhaled slowly, dropping his head to his hands. Foolish Doctor. Stupid Doctor. And what had he expected?  An exhausted River? Sick from the chilly lake water with a bit of the sniffles and maybe a fever? Not this, certainly. Nothing could have prepared him for this because the woman sitting in front of him was _not_ River. Not his River. And how was supposed to fix this? She wasn’t the TARDIS. He couldn’t just add a few wires and flip a switch.

Slowly, he became aware of soft fingers, stroking through his hair. He lifted his head to find that River gazed back, staring down at him as though she’d just uncovered a priceless artifact. “It feels like silk,” she breathed, watching her fingers slowly brush through his fringe, “I’d forgotten that.” He leaned toward the familiar gesture, grateful to see a shimmer of his River somewhere under the surface. “You’re not like the others.” 

“Not like what others?”

“The shadows. The ones who haunt me.” And just like that the shimmer was gone.

“River,” her name toppled from his lips as he clasped her burned hand in his and kissed at the aggravated skin, quelling the agony in his chest long enough to order a plan. Her hand continued to stroke at his hair. “Let’s get you out of here, yea?”

She just stared back at him, eyes narrowed, thinking, deciding. “You know,” she finally said, watching as he aimed a sonic at one of her cuffs. “If I must be haunted, I think I’d prefer it to be by you.” Her fingers slid out of his hair and down his cheek, “You’re warmer.”

“And who are the shadows? Hm? Not others that you’ve killed.” His eyes remained steadfast on his task despite how he held his breath waiting for her answer.

“Oh no, the shadows have always been here. They’ve haunted me since I was a little girl.”

“Tell me then,” he aimed the sonic at the second cuff and it fell off at the press of a button. He grinned up at her. “Can your shadows do that?”

She gingerly lifted her hands, rolling her wrists slowly and inspecting where the metal cut into her skin. “Sometimes,” she muttered, and though he paused and looked up at her, she showed no indication that she’d spoken at all.

“River…”

“Hmm?” Still her eyes did not stray from her wrist.

“You didn’t kill me. You know that, right? You are not a murderer.” He shrugged out of his jacked as he spoke, tugging it over her shoulders, mindful of the bruises that blazed across exposed skin. He rose up on his knees to turn the collar down behind her neck.

Her lips, chapped and split, pulled tightly into an eerie smile. “Oh Sweetie, of course I am.” His hands stilled, flat on the lapels of his jacket as he smoothed them down her shoulders.

“River, I promise you it will all make sense. I will help you remember, and the things that you don’t I’ll remember for you, but if you remember nothing else, remember this. You are not a criminal.” She gave a little squeak at that and her lips curled in, chin quivering as she fought to maintain composure. His hands instinctively reached for her face, threading fingers into her hair.

He searched her eyes for any sign of understanding or comprehension of what he was saying, but she merely stared back at him with a desperate terror. _Please._  He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek before whispering in her ear. “I will fix this, River.” He pulled back. “Trust me?”

 _Always._ He could hear it so clearly, the sound of her voice the last time he saw her. _I’ll always trust you, my love._

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she struggled to set her jaw and force a nod. But she said nothing.

XXX

 

The soft hiss of the shower drifted through their bedroom, fading into the background like a white noise that simply belonged. The Doctor tuned it out after a while as he scurried around the room, sweeping up dirty clothes. He snatched a shirt that had been thrown over the back of an arm chair, a pair of trousers that were left in the corner, had to crawl on his hands and knees to rescue a pair of orange striped socks from under the bed. After a while he stood in the center of the room, arm full of clothes looking around for a place to dispose of them.

It was custom now, his spontaneous cleaning sessions, had become so every time River visited. He always found some reason to scurry off when she dropped in unexpectedly—“got to check the air filter, be back in a tic!”—and she always waited patiently in the console room. “How was the air filter,” she’d ask, eyes cut to him and brow crooked. His cheeks flushed. His cheeks always flushed. “Fine, perfectly fine, better than fine. Spotless even.” “Hmmm” she’d hum, “better be.” 

After a second, the Doctor headed to the cupboard. He managed to open it, only losing two socks in the effort, and unceremoniously dumped the pile inside before shutting the door. He turned around and spotted a stray shoe laying in the middle of the floor scooped it up, cracked the door, and tossed it inside before shutting it once more. There. Nice and tidy.

Of course, her vanity was a mess. Overturned bottles and cosmetics cases littered the top, and a pile of archeology books was haphazardly stacked on the bedside table. The duvet was rumpled from where he’d been experimenting with alternative gravitation fields. The Doctor set about tidying, fingers nervously moving across objects, straightening and stacking, trying desperately to keep his mind on the task at hand: a clean room. Clean room for River. River needed a clean room. She would enjoy a clean room.

River hadn’t remembered.

The TARDIS, that was. She hadn’t remembered the TARDIS. He could see it in her eyes the moment they stepped on board. The wonder, the awe. _But it’s bigger on the inside,_ lay just on her lips. And of course she’d known it was bigger on the inside. She’d been told as much as a child, but she’d never seen it. Or at least, didn’t remember that she’d seen it.

He’d moved to the console, allowing her the freedom to wander around the room unobserved. And she did, eventually coming to rest with her back to him. Her hands spread wide over the railings and head hanging on her shoulders. Had still been like that when he’d hit the last button and sent them flying into the Vortex with a shudder and a whirl. She didn’t move when he walked up beside her, didn’t even register that he was there until he put a hand on her hip. Then, she stiffened.

“She missed you, you know.” He whispered, his voice intrusive in the heavy silence.

“Did she, now?”

“Of course, feel.” He uncurled her hand from the railing and pressed it against the nearest wall. Around them the TARDIS’ contented humming grew stronger. He could feel the energy running up her arm and into her body, could hear her soft gasp at the strange sensation. She took a step forward, hesitating slightly before pressing her cheek to the wall. She’d stood like that for nearly twenty minutes before he finally coaxed her away with the prospect of a warm shower and clean clothes, promising that the TARDIS wouldn’t go anywhere. 

Around him the TARDIS whirred and soothed, tutting for him to calm down. She made her own promises, but the Doctor shook his head, batting at the air he straightened the books on River’s side of the bed. He stepped back, eyeing the bed stand. It needed something, he decided, something else. Flowers! It needed flowers. Clapping his hands together a little too loudly, he turned wondering if he had time to stop at Meltron III and grab a dozen of—Daisies! A vase of vibrant daisies sat on the vanity, primed and perfect, and decorated with a plain burlap bow. Around him the TARDIS pulsed. 

He swept up the vase, sniffing lightly at the yellow centers before depositing it on the nightstand. Leaning over to examine his masterpiece he tugged at the arrangement, noting that the water had shut off in the bathroom. Finally happy with the flowers, he sat on the edge of the bed, hands nervously clasped in his lap.

With no task at hand, it was difficult not to think about her, not to feel that central puzzle looping around his mind because it didn’t make any sense. She was Time Lord just like him. Well, _enough_ like him. She should be able to take it all in, all the timelines—aborted or not—into her mind and keep them straight. Be it a curse or a blessing, Time Lords didn’t just forget.

The click of the door jamb jarred him from his thoughts. The Doctor jumped to his feet, turning expectantly toward the door, in time to see it crack open. His eyes caught her and he stilled.

She was pale, an unhealthy shade of white he hadn’t seen since Berlin, since she’d drained herself of her life’s energy. The Doctor shuddered at the memory, Amy’s voice frantically calling to him as Rory performed CPR on an unconscious River just feet away. The TARDIS lights brightened, around her. The Doctor realized that the shadows cast over her shoulders and arms were not shadows at all but bruises, bruises that shimmered in the light as streams of water dripped from the ends of her wet curls and ran in rivulets down her shoulders.

“Hello.” The Doctor winced at the sound of his own voice.

“Hi,” Her lips stretched slightly, voice soft. She took a tentative step into the room, arms tightening over the towel wrapped across her chest. She shivered, “I didn’t know you would still be here.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened, “Oh,” he said backing away from the bed, gesturing behind him as he nearly tripped over a stool. “Well, I could… I can just… do you… tea?”

“No, please don’t.”

They stared at each other, silent, blinking, their awkwardness doing nothing to ease his anxiety. Around him the TARDIS whirled, pressing against his mind and urging him to find something to do or say or both.

“Your hand!” He called, startling even himself as he nodded at the arm hanging limply by her side. River frowned and followed his gaze. The blood had been washed away, revealing skin torn and red.

River lifted it, examining it in the TARDIS light “It won’t heal,” She murmured and tilted it toward him.   

“Here,” He moved toward her, eagerly now because he had a task to set his mind to, something to do with his hands. He guided her to the bed and helped her sit before ducking back into the humid bathroom to retrieve a sterile tray from the medicine cabinet.

River waited, perched on the edge of the bed, _their_ bed, the fingers on her good hand worrying at the edge of the towel she wore as she looked around: the vanity, the sheer robe hanging from the corner of the cupboard door, the archeology books stacked on the nightstand.  Fingers reached out for the daisy, gingerly tracing the edges of the petals. She leaned forward and delicately sniffed, eyes dropping closed at the aroma that smelled so much like Earth.

“She chose those just for you.” River’s eyes flicked up at him and smiled at him as he set the tray on the bedside table before sitting and gently taking her hand into his lap, examining it first before unscrewing the top of a jar of antiseptic. He gave her a side long glance. “Knew they were your favorite.”

She smiled, a tremulous gesture that didn’t reach her eyes. “You both know me so well.” Her free hand rubbed anxiously across her thigh.

They fell into silence. The Doctor dotted the white cream over angry flesh, careful not to put too much pressure against her skin. He winced every time he heard her soft hiss felt her tense in his hands. River’s shoulders eventually grew heavy and her eyes slower. Her head lulled until it rested against his shoulder, damp curls falling across his back and soaking into his tweed. The Doctor assumed she’d long ago fallen asleep when her whispered split the silence.

“Does it hurt her?”

“Hm?” The Doctor sat the antiseptic back on the tray with a soft tap.

“That I’ve forgotten her.”

The Doctor picked up the dressing, busying himself with wrapping her fingers before he answered.  His eyes softened into an ancient stare as his fingers wrapped the thin gauze around her hand and down her wrist. “You didn’t forget her. You still remember her, somewhere deep in there,” he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s just buried.”

 “Does that me it can be remembered, then?” she asked, eyes dropping shut and cheek pressing further against his shoulder.  He didn’t answer. He would not make her promises that he could not keep. Not this time. Instead, he knotted the gauze against the soft skin on the inside of her wrist.

“No more picking at this,” he mumbled, tapping on the tip of her fingers. When she didn’t answer immediately he bent slightly, craning his neck to see her face, bruised but serene, tucked against his shoulder.  “River?” He hummed her name, jostling her gently. She lifted her head and blinked up at him bleary eyed. “Let’s get you in bed, ok?”

She yielded easily under his touch and when he was sure she could sit upright, he stood and tugged the sheets back. She waved off his offer for nightclothes, self-consciousness melting away in her exhaustion as she unwrapped the towel and let it fall to the floor before crawling into the bed, mumbling something about how long it had been since she felt clean sheets against her skin.

She was thin. He could nearly count the ribs dancing along her sides, the ridges of her spine. Flourishing patches of blue and purple covered her back and hips, deepening in long lines around her ribs, and he thought of the astronaut suit in Florida and the caging built into the torso. Faded greens and yellows marked her shoulders and arms, more faded but just as violent.

“I must visit fairly often,” She rolled onto her side, curling under the sheets and sinking into the mattress. 

“Why do you say that?”

“This feels like a we’ve done this before.” She mumbled. Perhaps it was. Routines with River were complicated.

He watched her. Eyes drifting shut and breath deepening as he smoothed the covers over her relaxing frame. For the first time in three months he felt a burden he didn’t even know he was carrying ease from his shoulders. River Song, defender of the galaxies, was home and safe in her bed. He would pretend that the bruises weren’t there. For now.

 


	3. Luna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where’s your diary?” The bedroom door swung open with such force that it cracked against the wall as the Doctor bounded into the room. River jumped. Head reluctantly lifting off her pillow, she looked about herself, dazed and confused until she saw the Doctor enthusiastically making his way to the cupboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the questions that I was always curious about is how River got her diary back after Silencio? I highly doubt Kavorian kept it safe for her and returned it once River got into Stormcage. Indeed, if I were Kavorian I think I would have preferred to destroy it. Hopefully these next few chapters provide a realistic explanation for what could have happened.

** Chapter 2 **

Luna

“Everyone Carries Around His Own Monsters.” – Richard Pryor

XXX

River woke wrapped in a pile of blankets, soft fabrics that molded to her curves and pressed her further into the plush bed. Her body was heavy and unwilling to move and she lay there for several moments only aware of the way her deep breaths made the sheets slide against her skin. Slowly, she crawled toward consciousness. She blinked her eyes open, letting them fall shut for another long second before peering into the room from around the curve of a threadbare quilt.

The room was dim, cast in a warm glow meant to illuminate her surroundings without being harsh on the eyes. River frowned as she looked around, struggling to place herself until her gaze landed on the simple vase of daisies sitting patiently by her bedside. She eased then, exhaling as a series disconnected words skimmed across her mind.

_TARDIS_

_Doctor_

_Home_

Slowly she raised an arm out of the protective warmth of her nest and skimmed fingers over the delicate petals. Smiling softly to herself, she tucked her hand under her chin and went back to sleep.

XXX

“Where’s your diary?” The bedroom door swung open with such force that it cracked against the wall as the Doctor bounded into the room. River jumped. Head reluctantly lifting off her pillow, she looked about herself, dazed and confused until she saw the Doctor enthusiastically making his way to the cupboard. River struggled to sit up, holding a hand to her head when the pressure change made it throb.

 “Only I just got to thinking that I haven’t seen your diary and you didn’t say anything about getting it before we left Elion yesterday. So you either had it on you or you left it somewhere safe” the Doctor rummaged through her clothes, eventually pulling out a black shirt dress and cream jumper. “Did you leave it somewhere, then?” He turned to her expectantly with eyes bright and merry as though he’d just solved the world’s oldest riddle. She didn’t answer.

“River?” His voice softened and she blinked at him from under a mass of wild curls. “Where’s your diary?”

“What diary?”           

The Doctor stiffened, the broad smile slipping from his face as she watched her rub her eyes. “What do you mean ‘what’ diary? Your _diary_ diary. The one I gave you in Berlin.” He glanced down at the garment in his hands before tossing it over the back of a chair and moving toward the bed.

“Sweetie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She’d called him ‘sweetie,’ an endearment she’d bestowed on him centuries ago. He grown accustom to it. Answered to it as if it were his own name, but the timber of her voice coupled with the unconscious way she tucked the bed sheets around her chest gave the title an unnerving impression. As if it didn’t quiet belong.  As if it weren’t quite River who said it.

“You’re diary! It’s blue and little, but big. The biggest you’ve ever seen. You take it everywhere you go. You write everything in it. You’ve got to remember.” He couldn’t help the little tremor of panic that rattled in his voice and well he shouldn’t because the thought of River Song without her diary terrified him more than anything. It was like a compass with no North. Since the day he first met her that little blue book haunted his dreams. It carried her secrets, remembered their past, and promised his future. It was proof of a life lived, a life being lived.

She looked up at him, sighing under the weight of his expectant gaze, shoulders slumping forward and hands falling into her lap. “I’m sorry. I just…” She pressed the heel of her hand into her temple, “bloody hell, my head is throbbing.”

The Doctor stared at her hunched form as if he expected her to do something more. And he did. River always did something, she always pulled it together right when it mattered most. Did she not understand the severity of the situation? Her diary, floating around all of time and space, vulnerable.  Anything could happen, and then where would they be?  Not one line, he’d promised her.

River didn’t move.  And when it became clear that she wouldn’t the Doctor licked his lips and eased himself onto the side of the bed. He gently took her head in his hands, shifting her so that her forehead rested against his shoulder, and pressed thumbs to either side of her temple. He could feel her energy crackle against his skin, a sharp jolt that shivered through his timeline as her body relaxed into his.

“I’ve forgotten things before.” She mumbled into his chest, “But this is different. It’s just _there_ in the corner of my  mind, and it comes close, _so close,_ but passes through me like mist and I can almost catch it but the harder I try the more impossible it becomes.”

Memories of Area 52 flooded his mind: Amy in an eye patch, an intergalactic distress beacon, and hands wrapped in a bow tie. He remembered the unmistakable shudder of realization that ran through his chest the moment he understood that everything River was telling him was true.  No one had ever bared their soul to him the way she did him that night, and in all likelihood no one ever would again. _Wife._ But while the Doctor’s mind race through all the memories of their aborted time line, River sighed against his shoulder, cognizant of none of it. It hadn’t happen for her. Their experiences, not shared. And the Doctor wondered if this was what she felt so many centuries ago when she looked into his face and he knew nothing of her.

His head gave a quick jolt, “there was an aborted timeline with pterodactyls and pyramids and Winston Churchill and, and,” He pressed the flat of his hand against her back, feeling the ridges of her spine bite into his palm “kisses that managed to save the Universe from total destruction.”

She turned into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Puffs of warm breath skimmed over the curve of his neck, “Sounds like an adventure.”

He shrugged noncommittally, “par for the course with you and me,” before setting her up, sliding a hand over her cheek as he ducked to catch her eyes. “You’re part Time Lord, River. Not wholly but enough. We see time, stretched before us and behind us. It’s the past and present, the once was and the forevermore. We,” he gestured between them, “keep it all in our head, you and I, because that is who we are.” He paused then, his ancient face searching hers for any understanding. “What I can’t understand is why you’ve forgotten.”

“And you think it’s because I don’t have my diary.”

The Doctor licked his lips thoughtfully, "I think... that your diary might ground you, serve as a reference of sorts."

 

 She nodded barely, but straightened, pulling herself from his reach. Grabbing a nearby robe, she carefully pulled it over her shoulders as she climbed out of bed. She tested her balanced before letting go of the bedframe and taking two or three stiff steps. The Doctor watched as she moved across the room, pressing fingers to her head and swaying softly when she closed her eyes.

“I remember it.” She whispered, running her hand over her face. “Blue and stiff. It’s weathering at the corners. It took me forever to wear the spine in so I could write in it. I had it at Luna,” She turned to him then. “The night they took me. It was after graduation and I was at the library.”

            “Lame!” He groaned, and her eyes flashed at him, “Who in heaven’s name visits the library after graduating? You should have been out partying, living it up with the Michon on Fatronium XIV.” And then his face brightened, “Oh, you know what? We should totally go. Bet you’ve never been. That’s what I’ll get you for your graduation, River. A surprise trip to Fatronium, though I suppose it isn’t really a surprise if I told you ahead of time—.” She stared at him blankly until he remembered himself and flushed. “Sorry,” he swallowed, “go on.” 

“There was a date written on the last page, and I was trying to figure out…” She blinked and shook her head. “I had it at Luna, but not after.”

 “Alright, then, we have a starting point,” the Doctor slapped his legs as he jumped to his feet. “Good ole’ Luna, been a while for me. Get dressed then, River.” He crossed the room to her and bopped her on the end of the nose before spinning away. “Breakfast is on me.”

XXX

 Luna was green with trees and grass. It was colored pink and yellow and orange with the flowers that dotted the walk ways. The sun was warm and the breeze was cool and the Doctor, leaned against the TARDIS with one leg propped behind him, waited.

 He didn’t like to wait. He hated it actually. The only problem was that the person he was waiting on was in his time machine; else he would have done away with all the waiting and jumped to the exciting part.

 “Glad you decided to show up,” The Doctor grumbled when River had finally stepped of the TARDIS, shutting the door firmly behind her and turning her face up to the sun. Her cheeks flushed gold in the sunlight, a healthier look than that unnatural paleness from the night before, and the breeze caught her curls, swirling golden strands about her head and into her face. The Doctor’s face softened then as he mentally tried to calculate how long it had been since she’d felt the sunlight. Weeks? Months? Years? He shuddered because he really didn’t know how long it had been between her graduation and Silencio. He made a note to ask her one day, but knew he never would. Instead, he slipped his hand into hers and turned them toward the pavement.

 According to his watch, it was approximately 8:00 AM Earth time on Sunday morning—the morning after Luna’s graduation—and the library was eerily quiet. Stepping through the giant brass doors into the marbled rotunda, the Doctor pressed hands deep into his trouser pockets and clicked his shoes against the floor once, twice, swallowing against the anxiety in his chest that had become a natural part of his visit to any library. Especially when—he glanced behind him to find River standing quietly near the entrance, admiring a stained glass window—he set his jaw and turned face front.

 “May I help you, son?” An old woman with a hunched back folded her hands over the circulation desk and leaned toward him, staring at him with beady eyes that glinted behind the spectacles perched on the end of her nose. “You look a bit lost.” She smiled.

 Oh, if she had any idea.

 Ducking his head a bit sheepishly and running a hand over the back of his neck, he stepped toward her. “I um…” he gave another look to River who was watching him now, but showing no effort to help, “I’m looking for a book.” He turned back to the woman and paused expectantly.

            She took the glasses off the end of her nose and let them hang on a chain around her neck, cocking her head as she did so and smiling up at him. “Well you have come to the right place. What did you have in mind? Drama? Romance?” She eyed him, “Oh, I bet a lad as young as yourself might enjoy a bit of adventure, hm?”

            The Doctor blushed, bobbing his head from side to side and plucking at his bowtie. “Well, you know… I do get around…” River cleared her throat in the background and the Doctor’s eyes widened. “Oh that’s right! Sorry, not that kind of a book. You see my…,” he lowered his voice “ _wife_ was here late last night and she thinks she might have left her diary.”

 The librarian’s small eyes widened, revealing two large black pupils with no irises. “Oh, well then that is an issue.” She whispered, matching his hushed tone with her own “why don’t I check lost and found and see if there is anything there.”

“That’d be nice, thanks.”

She straightened from the desk, but instead of shuffling through drawers or leaving in search of the magical place where people’s lost things were found again, her eyes slid shut and began to flutter, her lips pursed, twitching back and forth at the corners, and her whole body tensed.

 “Card catalogue?” He mumbled to River, who’d appeared by his shoulder to watch the humanoid search engine work. She nodded, “Miss Ivenerunt. If it’s here, she’ll know.” River clasped her hands in front of her chest, fingers picking restlessly at the fraying edges of the gauze covering her right hand. The Doctor glanced down at her, wrapping his hands around the bandaged limb and threading her arms through his. Soft fingers brushed gently over her hand as they waited.

 Finally, Miss Ivenerunt finished her search and her eyes popped opened. “I’m sorry. There isn’t anything like that in the Lost and Found.” River’s arm tensed around his and she gave a sharp inhale.

“Might there be anywhere else you could look?”      

Beady eyes narrowed on him. “I can make record of it in case it turns up.” Her head tilted too mechanically to look entirely human.  “What does this diary look like?”

 The Doctor began to describe the diary, splitting his attention between Miss Ivenerunt who looked at him with furrowed brows, nodding every so often and River who had untangled their arms and was moving into the next room. The Arthur Candy Reading Room, so said the sign over the door.   

 The reading room was large and long, brilliantly lit by a glass ceiling. The ground floor was adorned with piquet floors and heavy wood tables all lined in neat little lines.  Bowed heads dotted the tables periodically, none taking interested in the Doctor as he passed down the room, his boots patting a gentle rhythm against the floor. The walls were lined with tall shelves, rows and rows of then, covered in books.  On the far side of the room was a grand staircase, hand carved from oak in the first decades of the twenty second century and saved from an old cathedral on planet Earth. It led to a second floor, a balcony of sorts that ran the perimeter of the large room. There, on the landing stood River, face upturned as she studied an oversized map, yellow and tattered at the edges, that hung on the wall. Morning sun streamed in through the windows, filtering through the glass in vibrant streaks of golden light that fell across her back.

She turned to him when he got to the bottom of the staircase, her expression unreadable as she scanned the library from the elevated position. Then, her eyes narrowed. They trained on something in the far distance, and it was with unyielding focus she reached for the banister and resumed her climb. The Doctor followed.

He paced himself, nine, ten feet behind her as she led him to a small door hidden away in the back of the library. River paused then, fingers brushing over the aged wood. “Remember something?” He whispered, finally catching up with her and leaning against the wall next to the door jamb. She didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him. Instead, she pressed her fingers against the door.

 The small door led to a small room. Imagine that. A small room behind a small door. A dark room, musty and cold, with one window sitting high in the far wall, nearly to the ceiling. There was a table too, made from the same wood as the tables downstairs. River floated in, hand brushing across the tops of the chairs as she moved to the other side. And there was not a sound save for the ticking of a nearby clock sitting on a bookshelf.

River positioned herself at the head of a table with her hands pressed firmly into the wood. Her eyes were closed and her breath rose and fell at a gentle pace. Slowly, she sat.

 The Doctor stepped into the room, doing a quick scan. No diary, no bags. “Is this where you were, then? Last night?” he asked. Silence. Then suddenly, she tensed.  Her head jerked as if something startled her and she turned her attention over her shoulder. She sat examining the dark corners of the room as her breathing sped up, clearly audible in the oppressive silence. Her hands tilted upward, pressing into the table’s edge as her eyes slowly ran along the wall. They paused on the door, staring hard before blinking. She dropped her head to her hands.

“They’re coming. They’re always coming.”

 Wordlessly, the Doctor reached out and ran a hand down her back bending over her to whisper into her ear, “Not anymore, River. You’re safe now. You’re free.”

She inhaled and he could feel her breath rattle in her chest with the effort to keep it even. She exhaled quickly and gave a quick gasp and pressed her hands to her eyes. “Safety isn’t real. It’s just an illusion. I can change my name and my face, but they always come. They can always find me when they want me.” The Doctor‘s forehead dropped into her curls, pressing against the back of her head as she struggled against the panic. He was just about to suggest they leave, just about to wrap a hand around her arm and lift her from the chair and distract her with breakfast and tea and anything else he could think of when the small door flew open.  River jumped in his arms.

“Oh there you are!” Miss Ivenerunt called cheerfully from the doorway, “I was afraid you had already gone. That book you described sounded awfully familiar so I popped down to the stacks and had a chat with the Archivist. He would like to see you now.”

XXX

“Doctor!” A friendly voice called from the other side of the archives, and a white haired, potbellied man stepped from between the shelves. The Doctor winced. He usually loved this, meeting new people. Never bothered him at all when they seemed to know more about him than he knew about them.  Timey Wimey and all that nonsense, but honestly it was _tiring_ sometimes and he just didn’t feel up to it today. The Archivist came walking briskly toward them, an already rosy face brightening when he saw River. “And Professor Song! To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

The Doctor stilled. _Professor?_

River, seemingly unfazed by the sudden promotion, dutifully accepted the hand extended to her. “Hello, it’s good to see you again.” She, after all, was intimately acquitted with the Timey Wimey as well.

“Yes!” The Doctor cried beside her. “Indeed it is,” he glanced down at the man’s hand, a gold band glinted in the lighting “How’s the missus?” 

“Oh as well as can be expected” He clapped the Doctor a little too hard on the back and began walking them to the back of the room. “Keeps nagging me about retiring, but I pay her no never mind. If it weren’t for retiring she’d be finding something else to nag me for. It must be in the handbook they give you along with the marriage certificate. But I guess you know what that’s like,” he nudged the Doctor painfully in the ribs. It was the second spoiler in the span of 30 second and the Doctor licked his lips sent a stiff glance toward River who _had_ noticed it this time and offered him back a tense smile.

The Doctor forced a chuckle. Finger tugging at his collar. “Ah well that’s how it goes. Anyhoo, River and I are searching for a very important book and Miss Ivenerunt seemed to think you might be able to help.”  

The Archivist stopped and nodded, “The Lost Book of Fantasia.” Slightly confused, the Doctor gaped at the older man, but River, who had fallen behind and gravitated toward a table of artifacts lining the outside wall, bent over the table, only vaguely registering their conversation.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“The Lost Book of Fantasia. Isn’t that what you are looking for? It matches the description you provided Miss Ivenerunt.”

The Doctor shook his head. “No—“

“Doctor…?” River called from the artifact table.

“It’s not anything like that—“

“Doctor…?”

“We’re looking for a di—“

“Doctor!” Sighing with exasperation, he turned to her only to find her holding up an inventory photograph, marked with the date it was incorporated into the collection. It was a photo of her diary.

The Doctor pointed at the photo, wide mouthed, glanced at the Archivist and back to the photograph. “But… how is that? She lost it last night!” River flipped the photograph over and examined the date.

“It’s dated 1 March 5123. That’s the day of my graduation.” She offered him the photograph, catching his wrist when he accepted it and flipping his hand over to examine his watch. “1 March 5312. We’re nearly 2 centuries too late,” she sighed. And the Doctor felt his cheeks go red. Stupid, _stupid_ Doctor. How could he not have double check to be sure that he’d had the right date?

“Where,” he started, scratching his cheek and trying to get his wits about him. “Where is it now?”

“Not here.” The Archivist announced with entirely too much pleasure. “It was checked out earlier this week by Barton Quimbly. Ever heard of him?” He paused, briefly but on cue from River and the Doctor’s tired and blank faces continued quickly. “Famous explorer. Hiked to the top of Mount Pyrrah, survived a trek through the Desert Eshron, Discovered the last of the Sti Trees in the Merrah Forest. Anyway, he took the diary out on his latest expedition.”

“And you loaned it to him?” The Doctor spat, horrified at the thought of River’s diary being drug halfway through the galaxy by someone other than River. Beside him, River deflated.

“Doctor, let’s go.” She wrapped a small hand into the crook of his arm.

“Of course, ever heard the gold Caves of the Braxi? There is a likely chance that he could very well find them, and if he does it would rewrite half of Fantasian History.”

“And he needed the diary for what? Pleasure reading?” The Doctor felt his hearts pounding in his chest, just thinking of someone opening that book and reading those words, those entries. His and Rivers’ _lives_ scrawled intimately across the page.

“Doctor, let’s go.” River commanded next to him, pulling forcibly on his arm.

“For a map…” the Archivist stammered confusion evident on his face, “I’m sorry Doctor, if I knew you two would be looking for it…”

“If I remember correctly you promised me breakfast. Yea?” When he still didn’t answer River let go of his arm and turned for the door, leaving him to catch up.

XXX

River emerged from the loo, patting her hands dry against her thighs as she took one last moment to collect herself. She let out a slow exhale through puffed cheeks as she stared at the back of the Doctor’s head, witting patiently four booths ahead. A waitress dressed in a pink uniform and carrying a vintage mid twentieth century coffee pot tossed her a wink as she slid around the edge of the counter. River fell into step behind her.

By the time she slid into the booth across from the Doctor, a plastic smile stretched tightly across her face, but slipped the instant she saw the sheer number of plates spread the table between them. Her eyes widened. There were eggs and tomatoes, bacon and sausage. Pancakes. Nearly every breakfast food imaginable was littering the table.

“What did you do, order the entire menu?”

The Doctor shrugged sheepishly, “I didn’t know what you’d want.”

“Well, thank you Sweetie, but you didn’t have to. I would have been fine with porridge and tea.” River flushed under his gaze, but then her stomach growled, loud enough for both of them to hear. She flushed, “but since it’s here…”

 The edges of the Doctors lips curled in a proud smile as he watched her unroll her fork. He took another sip of his tea, wrapping his hands around his cup and leaning back.

 “Aren’t you eating too?” She asked, using the edge of her fork to cut off some egg.

“You start. I’ll eat what you don’t.”   
           

“Do you honestly think that I could eat all of this if I tried?”

“Very likely considering your mother’s eating habits,” River kicked at his shin under the table, a small, but genuine, smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

 It was different, being with younger River. She was freer than what he was used to. She wore everything she was thinking written right on her face and it was an odd impression because River, _his_ River was so impossible to read unless she wanted it. He found he worried more this way, caught himself watching her at random moments, looking for a sign, any sign that she was just going to be ok, but uncertain of what that sign would be.

River blew gently on her eggs before nibbling them off the edge of her fork. Her eyes closed involuntarily and she hummed as the flavor flooded her mouth. “Oh my. I’d forgotten what eggs tasted like” she mumbled, scooping another, this time much larger, forkful from the plate. “I can’t remember the last time I had an actual breakfast, or tea.” She dropped the fork on the plate with a load clamor and grasped a spare tea mug with both hand, taking a deep sip of the warm liquid.

“Don’t they feed you on Elion?” The Doctor asked, nonchalantly, but eager for her reply. His eyes scanned her face, noting the hollow cheeks and how her chin seemed a bit sharper than usual. He could see the distinct ridge of her collar bone where her jumper slid off the edge of her shoulder.

River shrugged, “standard prison fair, bread, water, maybe porridge, but _tea!_ Heaven.” She took another sip and rolled her eyes in bliss. He chuckled at that, because she sounded just like Amy, looked like her too as she tried to fit a too large piece of pancake into her mouth.

            River took the edge of her fork scooped up the pile of whipped cream melting over the top of pancakes, offering it to him across the table. This time, her eyes didn’t dodge his, but kept the gaze as he leaned over and ate the cream from her fork. He licked the rest of the white from his lips and hummed. “Oh that was definitely a good choice. Only Humans would come up with something as good as whipped cream for breakfast.” River giggled and pushed the plate of eggs in his direction.   
           

“Eat darling, it’s no fun to eat alone.”

            They settled in, nibbling on the variety of food spread before them, sometimes depositing the last bite on each other’s plate. The Doctor accumulated all of the extra jam, and the toast to go with it. River ended up with the last bits of bacon and sausage. They split the tomatoes and finished the eggs. In the end, they fought over the last of the pancakes, before finally agreeing to cut it in half. The Doctor didn’t think he’d ever eaten as much in his 1,100 years. River, he was sure might say the same, but judging by the healthy rosiness that tinged her cheeks, she wasn’t going to complain.

 “Any idea why Barton Quimbly wanted to take your diary out for an expedition?” He asked suddenly, not entirely sure he didn’t want to pretend for just a bit longer that everything was normal. River, for her part, didn’t seem fazed.

“The Gold Caves of the Braxi on the planet Fantasia.” She said and the Doctor nodded, “I visited there on an excavation my third year.” His face lit up.

“You’ve been to the Caves?” As far as he knew no one had ever successfully found the Caves. People couldn’t even agree on if the Caves actually existed or if it were just a fairy tale. But his excitement deflated when River shook her head.

  “Not the Caves, exactly, but I was on Fantasia. While I was there I was doing some extra research, a little pet project of mine. I was interested in examining the Caves within their context as a local legend.”

 “And what did you find?” he asked, leaning eagerly across the table and looking so boyish that River laughed.

 “How do you manage to look like twelve year old?” She asked. Her eyes lifted to the waitress who appeared at the end of the table to clear their plates. “What makes you think I found anything?”

“Because River Song rarely researches anything without finding something infinitely fascinating.” She leaned back against the back of the booth, arms crossed over her chest as she considered him. And there it was, that familiar twinkle. Clever River.

“I think everyone is mistranslating the sources.” The Doctor took a thoughtful sip of his tea and waited for her to continue. “Traditional Braxi was blended with the language of the Triton after colonization. No one knows what the original sounded like.”

“But you do.”

“I know what Gamma sounds like; it is more or less a regional dialect of Braxi. But all of the maps were written before colonization.

“Meaning no Triton.”

River nodded, “If you separate the two languages some of the verbs and directions change completely. Suddenly, instead of a towering tree, one might turn left at the waterfall.”

Oh clever, River. _Clever, Clever, River._ Of course that was it. The Doctor grinned broadly, a smile that was catching because it spread across River’s face as well, reddening her cheeks for good measure. Her jaw set in a prideful fashion as she watched him. “I kept the theory to myself. Didn’t want to published anything until I was sure, but I started retranslating the source, even had part of a map constructed.”

“In your diary.”

She nodded, “which is why Quimbly would have taken it with him.”

She took another sip of tea, before sliding it to the edge of the table for the Doctor to refill from the pot sitting between them. River watched the amber fluid flow from the spout, and accepted it back with open hands. “So I told you my story. It’s your turn.”

“What do you want to know?”

She watched him for a minute, head tilted, and the Doctor swallowed. Here they were, serious again. He already knew the answer he was going to have to give her, and dreaded saying the words.

“How did you make it out of Silencio?”

He licked his lips, wondering how much he could tell her without compromising her memory. “Spoilers.” He stuttered over the word, it tasted bitter on his tongue and he took another sip of tea just to wash it away.

River, flinched. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, but undeniably flinched. And though her smile did not slip, the ease with which it was given changed.

 “Oh,” she said, her voice cracking over the syllable, and finally she broke, dropped her eyes to her tea mug and she swallowed. “I see. I suppose it’s for the best really. If I should… if it were to…” when she turned her eyes to him, they glistened and he could see the struggle in them, the inability to vocalize what she was thinking. _If I should try and kill you again.._. “It’s best you not tell all your secrets.” She finally conceded.

“Oh no, River. It’s not…” He reached across the table and wrapped his hands around hers. “It’s not like that. I told you. I did! When we were on top of the …” His mouth snapped shut and he pressed their joined hands to his forehead as he berated himself. _Spoilers, Doctor. Bloody spoilers! Break a few, why don’t you._

 “Don’t.” She said, as if reading his mind. “Don’t feel like you have to explain.” She leaned closer to him, and he could see into her eyes better than he had all day. The twinkling cleverness was long gone, replaced by a numbing emptiness that existed just behind the shimmering tears.

“Teselecta.” He breathed, not caring what spoilers he gave if only it would wipe that look from her face. “I was in a Teselecta. It wasn’t me you shot.” She shook her head, struggling to pull her hand out of his but he held tight.

“Doctor don’t. It’s not important.”

“But it is, River. It is important. It’s important that you know and it’s important that you know I told you. You’re not like the others; you don’t follow me around mindlessly following orders. You walk by my side. You make decisions. ” She gave him a brave smile, one that told him that she thought he was trying to mollify her, and that she loved him for it even though she didn’t believe him.

“You don’t have to trust me Doctor. Heaven knows I don’t trust myself.”

“Oh that’s rubbish,” he hissed. “I trust you more than anyone else in the Universe. I trust you more than I trust myself.” He cupped her cheek, and her eyes closed at the sensation as she turned her face into the contact. And he thought, if he leaned just a little bit closer, he could press his lips to hers and prove to her that what he said was truth.

Suddenly a plate crashed to the floor and shattered behind the counter. A waitress cursed loudly. River’s eyes flew open and before he knew it she’d sat back and fascinated herself with her tea.

“They’ll come for me again, you know. When they realize that you aren’t dead.”

And for a brief moment, the Doctor’s curiosity took over. “What do they look like? The Shadows?”

She shrugged, turning the mug lazily in her hands as she spoke down at it. “I never remember. I only ever see them from the corner of my eye.”

“Do you see them often, then?” She looked up at him and offered a sad smile.

“I always see them. Even now. I’ve counted at least three shadows over your shoulder since we’ve been sitting here.” He ventured a look, turning slowly and scanning the wall behind him. Waitresses bustled around, customers ate. No Shadows.

“I don’t… There’s nothing,” he mumbled, turning back to her and eyeing her seriously.

She looked at him, vacantly. Tired. And the Doctor remembered the old caretaker of Greystark and what life with the Silence had done to him. “I know.” She sighed, turning her face to the window and gazing out at large bluish orb hanging low in the midmorning sky. “The only problem is that I don’t know which of us is seeing what’s really there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your lovely reviews! I so enjoy getting feedback from you guys. This update has been a bit long in the making since school has started back, but it's plenty long enough to make up for it. Hope you enjoy it!  
> X0X0,   
> The Riverwatcher


	4. Fantasia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep in the forests of Fantasia there was a sound, a sound that was altogether unusual and remarkable. Amid the trickle of the water running through the forest floor and the caw of the spinet birds, there was a mechanical whoosh that announced the arrival of the newcomers—the visitors—to no one that was interested in particular. In a small clearing between the tall trees, where the sun’s bright orange rays trickled down to the yellowed ground, a blue box faded into view. Once, twice, three times before becoming fully solid. As if to announce its arrival, a spinet bird fluttered out of a nearby tree, shooting brilliant black streaks across the sky.

** Chapter 3 **

Fantasia

“The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n”

\- John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

 

XXX

Deep in the forests of Fantasia there was a sound, a sound that was altogether unusual and remarkable. Amid the trickle of the water running through the forest floor and the _caw_ of the spinet birds, there was a mechanical whoosh that announced the arrival of the newcomers—the visitors—to no one that was interested in particular. In a small clearing between the tall trees, where the sun’s bright orange rays trickled down to the yellowed ground, a blue box faded into view. Once, twice, three times before becoming fully solid. As if to announce its arrival, a spinet bird fluttered out of a nearby tree, shooting brilliant black streaks across the sky.

The door to the mysterious blue box opened, and out popped a curly head. River took a moment to examine their surroundings, noting the cloudless sky, the tall trees, the sound of water that told her they weren’t too far from the creek.

 “And you’re sure you got it right this time? Absolutely positive?” she called back into the TARDIS. She didn’t wait for the response before she slipped out the door, shielding her eyes against the sun in order to see all the way up to the tree tops. They were dotted with black and blue leaves that fluttered in the tropical wind.

 “Positive Song, I _swear._ ” The muffled response drifted through the cracked door.

River grumbled, “That’s what you said the last time.”

“What’s that?” The Doctor asked, suddenly right behind her as he leaned out of the TARDIS glancing at the forest over her shoulder.

“Nothing, Sweetie.” She shrugged nonchalantly and batted her eyes at him, pleased to see the faint red tinge on his cheeks as he slipped out of the TARDIS and pulled the door shut behind him.

 “I don’t trust you, Song.”

 “Of course, you don’t, love. Wouldn’t be fun if you did.” She angled her head in order to see him over her shoulder and he was aware of her back pressing lightly into him. “Bit of a thrill seeker aren’t you, Doctor.” Her voice lowered to an unholy pitched that made the Doctor’s insides jumped and he flushed as he remembered all the other times he’d heard that voice.

“Don’t you know it, my bad girl.” He chuckled darkly into her ear, his breath stirring the curls that had pulled from her bun.  Suddenly, he cared less about seeing Fantasia than he had ten minutes before, even more so now that River had tilted her head away from him and expose a long thin strip of milky white skin. The Doctor inhaled deeply, eyes closing at her familiar smell, the crackle of time mixed with books and dust with a hint, a barely faint hint of daisies.

 “So, Quimbly brought his expedition to Fantasia.” And just like that River was gone, having taken several steps away from him before turning to him, arms opened. “What’s next?” The Doctor’s lips pursed and he pressed a hand to the back of his neck. River’s eyes widened, sparkling with humor as she considered him. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “River—“

  “Oh my god, you have no idea! Aren’t you supposed to have all the plans? You are the Doctor after all. Or do you just make bits up as you go along and take credit for them if it happens to work out?”

“Oi! I have a plan.” The Doctor declared, preening at his bowtie. “It might still be a plan in the making but a plan nonetheless.” He felt a secret chill run up his spine at the way River cross her arms, popping her hip to one side as she stood waiting to be impressed.

 “Go on, then.”

 The Doctor gleefully shoved his hands in his pocket and turned away from her, ambling toward the thick of the forest to his right. He flicked his sonic from his jacket pocket, tossing it in the air before igniting the end with a flourish of his wrist. “Patience is a virtue, Song.” He called over his shoulder, analyzing the readings as he did so.

 “Oh, look who’s talking!”

He turned, brandishing his sonic at her in mock warning, prepared with a quick retort on the tip of his lips.

 Then the ground disappeared.

  His feet flew up in the air, and his stomach dropped down, the way it always did when gravity pulled down and there is nothing to hold him up. He knew that feeling. Very well. Somewhere in the background, he heard River call his name and felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. He rolled over to his front and bounced again. Dirt was in his mouth and twigs snapped under him. His fingers loosened around his sonic and it disappeared as he lost sense of what was up or down, left or right until finally he came to a stop.

“Doctor? Doctor!” River called, half running, half sliding down the hill which the Doctor had just taken backwards. He grunted, sprawled out on his back with eyes screwed tight against the bright sky. “Doctor?” he heard her voice again, softer this time and a shadow darkened over his eyelids.  He blinked slowly and was greeted with River’s concerned face hovering over his. Stray curls frizzed and frayed from her updo, backlit by the Fantasian sun and glistening a fiery red at the edges. Her face relaxed when she saw the tense smile he offered. “Are you alright, darling?”

He coughed, a puff of yellow dust huffing between them. _Ick_ , he scraped his teeth across his tongue, trying to no avail to get the dryness out of his mouth. “Gravity. Stronger here than Earth.” He spat.

  “Well that’s nice to know.” She hummed, helping him sit up and pulling the twigs and leaves from his hair. Gentle hands smoothed down his back, brushing the dirt from his jacket as the Doctor saw to the front of his trousers, rubbing at his knees and chest.

Suddenly, there was a soft chattering and River’s hands stalled against his back. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” The Doctor lifted his watch to his ear to make sure it was still ticking away.

 It happened again. “That.” River’s head tilted gently, eyes narrowing on a large tree directly behind the Doctor. It had a thick trunk with raised roots that curled up before burrowing into the soil. The Doctor paused as well, fingers wrapped around his bowtie, as he struggled to turn himself around.  

  “Sounds like the tree’s talking.” He shrugged, righting himself and finishing with his bowtie, “They do that sometimes, you know.” River rolled her eyes. Pressing a hand against his shoulder, she lifted herself to her feet and retrieved his sonic from under a fallen log.

 She lowered herself onto her hands and knees in front of the tree, pressing the side of her face into the ground as she peered underneath the large roots and positioned the sonic so that it could illuminate the darkness. “It sounds like it’s coming from…” River no sooner had activated the sonic before a furry creature jutted out from under the roots, chattering and clicking as it plowed into River’s face, rolling her over onto her back. In a haze of confusion, River batted the foreign creature away from her, but it pulled closer, fingers curling around the ends of her hair, arms wrapping around her neck, legs sliding around her chest. Then, River stopped, looking up into a tiny black face surrounded by a puff of grey hair. It blinked.

 “It’s a mypoon!” The Doctor exclaimed, scooting himself over to them as River sat up.

 “A what?” River tried to gently unwrap its arms from around her body, but every time she got one arm free another tightened its grasp _. My Lord, how many arms did it have_?

 “A mypoon, a baby mypoon from the look of it.” He grabbed his sonic, and slowly, as not to scare the poor creature that was already shivering and shaking in River’s arms, ran a basic life form assessment. The mypoon was short and squat and covered in thick frizzy fur that puffed out far from its body, making him look more round than square. It had four double jointed arms and two legs, which it had heretofore used to wrap itself around River’s body, and a squashed little face with a wrinkled nose and wide blue eyes and a wild tail that fluttered about anxiously.

“That’ doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

“Mypoon is a native of Fantasia, mammal, single bred, have a lifespan of approximately twenty years and incredibly, incredibly clever.” He flipped the sonic shut and replaced it in his pocket.  “I’ve never actually met a mypoon before.” And then the Doctor leaned around River’s shoulder so that he could see the creature’s face which was currently buried in the crook of her neck, “how do you do?”

River rolled her eyes, “Doctor—“

“Shhh,” he hushed her, eyes flicking up to her before returning it to the animal. “I speak mypoon.”

 “Oh you do not!”

“I most certainly do! I speak everything.” He reached out and ruffled the fur on top of the little animal’s head. It chattered and clicked at him. “This guy here lost his mum.”

“And what does he want with me?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Maybe you look like a suitable replacement.”

“Oh and I suppose I look like a mypoon, then do I?”

The Doctor plucked at a stray curl, “Well you hair kinda…” River swatted at him.

“Help me get him off.” She asked, trying once more to untangle the animal from her torso but was distracted as the little creature reach up and stuck its face into River’s, touching their noses and chattering at her before tucking its face once more into the crook of her neck.

 The Doctor’s voice softened after that, watching as the creature sighed deeply, its furry little body melting in his wife’s arms. “I think you’ve found a kindred spirit, River.” He smiled up at her, taking her hand in his and running them along the little animal’s back, burying her fingers in the thick fur until she was petting him of her own accord.

The Doctor stood, looking around them. He took two paces to the left, turned around and walked back. River, still sitting on the ground and carefully petting the mypoon, watched as he circled her three times before sticking his finger in his mouth and holding a thumb into the air, finally declaring, “North.”  He took a few steps and then turned back to her expectantly. “Coming?”

“Wait. Are we bringing him with us?”

“Of course, got get him back to mum don’t we?” He turned and disappeared between two trees, leaving River to clamor behind.

She tromped on branches and leaves, batting vegetation out of the way in an effort to catch up with him, “But, Doctor. _Doctor”_ before finally falling into stride alongside him. The mypoon took the opportunity to unwrap itself from River’s neck and crawl up her body where it resettled itself on her shoulder. One had wrapped around her head, fingers tucked into her curls for balance. “What if we can’t…” She threw a wary look at the creature riding perfectly content on her shoulder. “It’s a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, isn’t it?”

 He shrugged, “I’ve got a plan.”

 “Really? Is it anything like that last one? The one where you ended up bouncing backwards down a hill?” He turned and gave her gappy grin that told her it was exactly like the last plan, and kindly instructed her to hush now and respect the plan.

 “Geez, River you are hard work, young.”

 She grumbled at that, crossing her arms over her chest, but he loved it. He liked her like this, young and carefree, with a bit of a sharp tongue and all the early characteristics of his River. It felt normal, as if nothing were wrong. It was as if the shadows didn’t exist for her, like he never caught her staring uneasily into an empty room or muttering bits of nonsense to herself. It was as if she knew all about them. Area 52. Their wedding. That she loved him and he her, dare he even think it. She was River (albeit young, but young River could be fun too so he learned) and he was the Doctor and they were off on another adventure.

  The Doctor’s eyes narrowed on a tree ahead of them, the first where branches weren’t obstructing their path. They were broken. Flicking open the end of his sonic, the Doctor pointed it at the tree and flipped it up for the reading. “See that?” He asked, holding the sonic out for River. She nodded, eyes cutting to him curiously. “Humans.” She smiled softly at that, recognition flashing in her eyes. _They’d found Quimbly._ Perhaps his fantasy wasn’t too far from being reality.

They followed the traces of Quimbly’s expedition to a creek, cutting clear across the forest floor and trickling with sparkling water. River dropped onto a nearby rock, perspiration glinting across her face and chest. It was humid here, much more so than she had let on. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’re still wearing that thing.” She huffed, eyeing the tweed still situated comfortably on his shoulders. The Doctor was crouched down next to her, hands sweeping over the ground, plucking at a few rocks and palming them as he searched the trees overhead.

 “Time Lord Biology. My body temperature acclimates to different climates. I’m rarely uncomfortable with wild weather changes. “He jostled the rocks in the palm of his hand as he found his target. Aiming carefully he launched a rock in its direction, a small brown orb nestled high in the tree, a gyra fruit. The rock hit it with a hollow thud and plummeted to the ground. He repeated the action again, and still a third time before gyra broke free, tumbling to the ground with a rush of branches and leaves. It landed with a soft thump, and the mypoon scurried off River’s shoulder and hovered over it, head tilting back and forth as it circled the catch. Eventually it shrugged, scooped it up, cradling it in three of its hands as it scurried back to River and dropped the fruit in her lap.

  “Thank you,” she ascended, forgetting, no doubt, that in all likelihood it couldn’t understand a thing she said, but it chattered at her nonetheless and scurried off to follow a juicy centipede that was crawling a few feet away from them. River watched him go, “Do you think we can actually find his mum?” She asked in hush tone just in case it _could_ understand her. The Doctor, who had lifted the gyra from her lap and was set on sonicing it open paused, mutely watching the mypoon for a moment before returning to his task. “Only,” River continued, “we’ve been in this forest for how many hours now and we haven’t seen another one like him. That’s strange isn’t it? That his mother would go so far and not return?”

 “I doubt she left on her own volition. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that finding our little friend there corresponded with Quimbly’s expedition route.”

 “You think they took her?”

 “It’s their MO, isn’t it? Humans? Find a new world, a new planet full of beauty and treasures. They obviously can’t just observe the beauty. They feel an intense need to collect, to _own_ and so they take pieces, more and more pieces with each visit until the beauty is but a memory. A stuffed carcass in a museum on Platar 5.” He paused for a moment, the high pitched buzzing of the sonic filling the silence between them, “Seventy-five years from now mypoons will be an endangered species. In eighty they will be all but extinct with the exception of a small colony living on an island south of the Gamma region.”

  River fell silent after that, resting her chin on a fist, elbow balanced atop her knees as she watched the little creature play with the unwilling centipede. It had rolled over onto its back and was throwing the slimy worm into the air, catching it with its tail.

Beside her the little brown sphere finally snapped apart in the Doctor’s hands and he held half out to her. Inside there were hundreds, no thousands of little blue and red balls, like berries, but transparent and filled with colorful juice. River palmed a few, popping them into her mouth as she thought. The Doctor did the same.

 “Do you really think they’ll still have my diary?” She asked, plucking at a few more berries.  The Doctor dropped the emptying shell into her lap for better access, digging a few out himself before situating himself more comfortably on the ground, leaning against the rock River sat on.

  “Don’t see why not. It’s on loan from one of the most prestigious universities in the galaxy. His reputation depends on its safe return. Besides, if your map is their only hope of finding the caves—“

   “Well, it wasn’t finished yet,”

  “—one more reason it’ll be easier to find them then. It’d be impossible to find the Caves without the finished source since I highly doubt any of them speak enough Gamma to finish the translation. Besides, it’s quite convenient actually. It would have been much more difficult trying to steal the diary out of Luna’s archives. Difficult, mind you, but not impossible.”

“I don’t exactly think that it’s stealing if the diary never stopped being mine in the first place.” The Doctor leaned his head back against the rock, squinting at her through the bright sunlight. River sighed, “It’ll be nice to have a past again.” He gently reached out and hooked his fingers around her hand, pulling it from her lap to press a soft kiss to the healing skin. The physical traces of Silencio were slowly fading. Bruises were lightening and sore muscles were relaxing. The burns from her suit had lost most of their scabs and existed now as an irritated pink with puckered skin. She’d taken off the bandages several days ago.  But here on her hand which bore the brunt force of the weapons discharge, the Doctor was almost certain there would be scarring and he wondered how he’d never noticed it before.

When he glanced back up at her, she was gone. Physically still present beside him, he still held her hand after all, but her gaze was focused somewhere on the distant shore. She sat watching, unblinking. The Doctor shifted slowly, ignoring the cold fear in his chest that wanted to grab her and shake her free of whatever held her. It wasn’t the first time she’d faded as such, but each time he grew a little more afraid he wouldn’t be able to pull her back.

  “River,” he shifted so he could sing into her ear, doing a successful job of adding a note of teasing to his voice. “Where are you?” She took a sharp intake of breath, eyes darting to him and body easing as she smiled and forced a soft laugh.

 “I’m here.” She squeezed his hand. But uncertainty filled her eyes, a fear that matched the one that settled hard in his chest.

Suddenly a sharp chattering echoed through the forest and the both looked to their little friend who was staring back at them, lifted on its hind legs, ears pricked. The chattering called again and mypoon turned and scampered into the forest, leaving River and the Doctor in a race to catch up.

 They chased the mypoon down the creek bed, watching as it crawled its way up a nearby tree, across a limb, and down a large metal cage that dangled from the branch. It dropped down the bars before sticking its head between them. The chattering multiplied.

 “Well, that was easy,” River said, cupping her hands over her eyes and glancing up into the trees. The Doctor moved over to where the cage had been secured against the tree trunk and untied the rope, gently lowering the cage to the ground. At that point the baby mypoon climbed off, glancing at River expectantly as she bent and unlatched the front. Out scurried a larger, fluffier, mypoon which promptly waddled up to the smaller one, sniffing it gently before settling in to grooming its fur with long licks.

River watched the reunion with a gentle smile tugged softly across her lips, but the Doctor, infinitely more interested in the cage, had squatted down to examine the mechanics. A poacher’s cage. Manmade, fifty- third century. He wiped his hands absent-mindedly down the sides of his trousers as he thought. Quimbly wouldn’t have travelled far from his catch, but in which direction? Slowly, he stood. Sending a quick glance to the baby mypoon which was now squirming under its mother’s ministrations, he pressed further upstream.

He made it about two hundred yards before stopping coming to an abrupt halt. “Doctor? What’s the matter?”  He turned to find River making her way to him, slipping around a long limb filled with purple leaves. Wordlessly, he turned back, waiting for her to catch up, to feel her press gently against his back, one hand stilled on his arm as she peered over his shoulder. “Oh my god,” she breathed.

Stretching before them about a kilometer wide was the remnants of a landslide that had destroyed everything in its path. Trees were stripped and bare, tossed up like toothpicks sticking out of the muddy landscape at all angles. Debris from the mud’s rapid descent down the mountain littered the soft grounde. Overhead, the sun beat down, unobstructed by the forest canopy.  It was recent, but not fresh, perhaps a week old. He squinted. At the edge of the debris field, he could just barely make out the red and yellow of a tent, half collapsed and buried under mud.

Quimbly’s camp.

 The Doctor waded to the tent, mud seeping into his shoes and weighing down his trouser legs as he looked for an entrance. It was buried and he had to sonic a hole in the fabric to get inside, half dreading what he would find as he ripped the canvas open and began pulling out everything within reach.

 “Do you think they were here at the time?” River called to him, swaying into the center of the debris field. The Doctor glanced from where he was raking through a camp bag full of food. River stood watching him over her shoulder. From here the sun caught the gold of her hair, making it seem nearly to glow as the wind stirred curls across her cheek. Mud smeared over her thin blouse and down the back of her jodhpurs where she’d wiped her palms. For a moment she looked like his River. Vibrant and alive in the midst of a dig.

   “I hope not,” he called back, shaking the last items out of the bag. No diary. He reached back into the tent—hoping that perhaps Quimbly was still out there, trekking to the caves with the diary safely tucked away in a sack—toiletries and a pair of boots emerged. Deep down, though, the Doctor knew this was it. The reason why he’d never heard of Quimbly’s expedition, read of his discovery of the Caves. Quimbly never returned from Fantasia.

In the distance, River had squatted down where she had freed a pack from the mud, and was shuffling through the contents. She huffed when she didn’t find anything, straightening to ease the tension in her back when her eye caught a flash of blue jutting out of the ground. She tipped herself forward, stretching on hands and knees far enough to snag it with the tips of her fingers. She uncovered an arm, pale and lifeless, jutting out from the muddy depths where its body likely remained intact. It was broken, bent backwards midways between the wrist and elbow and splattered with blue and purple. She let out a strangled cry as she fell backward in the mud, a pool of brown liquid spreading across her lap. Behind her, the Doctor’s head snapped up.

 “River?”

 River struggled to right herself, unable to gain traction in the slippery goo, and with each failed attempt her breath hitched a little quicker. “Help me,” she gasped, finally pulling herself back to the arm, fingers frantically clawing at the mud. “Help _me!”_ She shot a look over her shoulder, her face and hair splattered with brown, eyes wide and panicked.

The mire slowed him down. He had to lift his knees and keep his feet moving to keep himself from getting stuck down in the muck. All around him bits of tent and sleeping bags, rods, jutted from the mud. He dropped to his knees behind her, peering over her shoulder. A soft huff rushing from his lungs when he saw what she was after.

“River…” he spoke in a hushed tone that only made her hands move faster.

 “Help me get him out.”

 “River… River, he’s dead,” Damn if his voice didn’t shake. The Doctor draped loose arms around her. “There isn’t anything we can do.”

  “No!…there is always something… something more, a… a choice.” Her fingers clawed faster at the mud and the Doctor’s arms tightened around her and she squirmed against him. “Let me go!”

“River…”

“We have to help him.” He stood, struggling to pull her along, but she fought back, her arms and legs flailing as she struggled out of his grasp. “No, we can’t just leave him here. We can’t abandon him.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, mixing with mud as he pulled her from the debris field to the tree line. Her flailing finally overcame him and he fell backward, landing hard on a tree root, she fell out of grasp curling in on herself and burying head in her arms, her body rigid and shaking in an effort to draw air that wouldn’t come.  

The Doctor, who had never been good at this sort of thing, honestly who tried to avoid any sort of human emotion whenever he had the opportunity, sat frozen in place as River Song, savior of galaxies came unraveled next to him. His hearts stilled for a brief moment as he heard her panicked gasping and pressed a hand into her back just in time to feel the shuddering breath that filled her lungs. Then, a grief-stricken sob echoed through the forest, filled with anguish that sounded almost inhuman in its agony. The Doctor’s blood ran cold in his veins at the sound, tears springing to his own eyes because he didn’t know. He didn’t know what had happened or what she’d seen, couldn’t figure out what was going on in her mind because death was death and Melody Pond had been well acquainted with it. She wrapped her own arms, speckled with mud, bruises, and burns around her head and she sobbed, deep wrenching sounds that betrayed something deep inside that she’d never shown him before.

The TARDIS was so much better at things like this. But ever so slowly, he relaxed into his responsibility, his arms wrapping around her, lifting her just enough so that he could wrap himself around her and her hands moved from her head to his jacket, curling into his lapel as she pressed her face into his chest. He hummed to her, soothing sounds and thoughtless words and only after several minutes realized it was a Gallifreyan lullaby, one of the few he remembered. Her breathing slowed into spontaneous hiccups and the Doctor could hear the soft scrape of her eyelashes against tweed as her eyes fluttered open. But he would not be the first move. He would not let go, not until she asked. Her body sagged into his.

 “They left me” she whispered with a thick, tearful voice. Only then did he realize that her eyes were wide and alert, quietly watching something along the far tree line from where her head rested against his shoulder. He glanced up. There was nothing there, at least not to him. “They left me to drown at the bottom of the lake.”

His eyes glanced back at the landslide, mentally calculating how many men must be buried in the mud—at least 8 judging by the rations he’d pulled out from the tent—and knowing that there was no way he could dig them all out himself. It would be a challenge with a fully healthy River, but they could have done it.  Not now, not with her like this. 

He carried her back along the creek bed, far away from Quimbly and the mud, back to where they had sat and snacked barely twenty minutes earlier. The Doctor sat her on a dried pile of leaves while he fetched the gyra shells and used it to collect water from the creek. When he returned to her, River’s eyes were focused intently on the glistening stream, the trails of water that ran over rocks and roots and mud, her tear streaked face blank.

 “They’ll come back for me when they realize that you’re not dead.” She whispered hoarsely, eyes rising to his, wide and frightened as he knelt next to her and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.

 “They won’t know. Just mine and your secret, yea?”  He hushed, offering her a sip of water which she accepted. Her hand wrapped tightly around his wrist as she drank greedily from the vessel he tipped against her lips. It was as if she expected him to keep her rooted to some sort of reality, the one where she was safe and he was there. Where there was water to drink and air to breathe.  And when she had drank her fill she sat back, swiping a shaky hand across her mouth.

 “They always know. They have eyes and ears everywhere and they’ll come. I think they might have already.”

 The Doctor felt his shoulders sag at her words, and pulled her closer against him. Her head tucked perfectly under his chin, remnants of stray frizzy curls tickling across his lips. “How many do you see?”

  Her voice was small and feeble. “Sixteen.”

  “They’re not really there. It’s all an illusion.”

 He felt a soft puff of air skim around his neck. Her head turned further into his chest. “Please don’t let them take me again.”

The Doctor sighed, fingers curling into her hair as he felt their hearts sync to one another’s pace. “I won’t,” he promised. He prayed it was a promise he had always kept.

XXX

He carried her back to the TARDIS, and her face was pressed against his neck the entire way, eyes screwed tightly shut against the visions or memories, or both. She alternated between exhaustion and anxiety, shaking in his arms but refusing to let him let go of her long enough to slide off his jacket for her.

 The TARDIS welcomed them with open doors and a soft buzz and a bedroom that has been rerouted to just off the side of the console room. On the bed lay a tray with warm water and clean towels and the Doctor did what he could to get her clean, stripping her out of her muddy clothing and leaving them in a pile off the edge of the bed. He wrapped her in clean nightclothes. She sank back against a pile of pillows, burrowing herself under the covers as the Doctor rummaged through the nightstand drawer, shuffling through the contents until he found a little glass vile filled with small purple tablets.

 “What’s that?” She asked softly, examining the little tablet  he’d shaken into his palm.

 “Nymeric. It’ll help you sleep.”

 Hopeful eyes lifted to his. “Without dreams?”

  “Without dreams.”

 She didn’t hesitate then, placing the pill on the tip of her tongue and accepting the water he handed her. She settled back against the pillows, watching as she bent to gather the soiled linens. “Doctor?”

 “Hm?”

  “What if we don’t find my diary? What happens then?”

He glanced up at her from where he’d just deposited everything into the laundry unit, shutting the door and latching it as he did so. “We’ll find it,” He said, turning back to the unit and tugging the door open again. He pulled out a pile of warm, freshly washed clothing and pilled them in the seat of a nearby chair.

“But what happens if we don’t? Do I go through life with only half my memories, then?”

“There’s no guarantee that you’d remember anything even if you did get your diary back.”

She fell silent then, head dropping back against the pillows, but she wasn’t asleep. Not yet, and the Doctor silently busied himself around the room, putting away the freshly pressed clothes, uneasy about leaving her alone before she’d drifted off. Then she unexpectedly broke the silence.

 “I thought they were going to kill me. After I had completed my mission, I mean. The suit took me back into Silencio and I waited there for… for _hours,_ in the cold and damp. There wasn’t any air. It burned to breath and no matter how I tried I couldn’t get air. And I just… I knew they weren’t coming back… I waited to suffocate” She blinked, and a tear dropped from her lashes, rolling down her cheek. “I remember them, every hour. As though they just happened.” Her hands clutched the edge of the sheet, fingers paling under the pressure of her grip. She sighed, eyes fluttering open and meeting his from across the room. “I’ve lived a half lived life, Doctor , full of barely remembered events. I’ve woken with bruises and broken bones and have been unable to recall weeks at a time. Things lurked in the shadows and those things would talk and make me do things without ever understanding why. I always thought it was a blessing that I couldn’t remember, but this is different. This is big.” She gave a soft shake of her head, lips curling into a sad smile. “There’s never been anything worth remembering before.”

The Doctor stood fidgeting in the center of the room, an old jumper clutched in his hand. She was right.  It was a big important piece she was missing. She was missing half of her identity. River Song, the woman who killed the Doctor. Oh, she remembered that, but what about the time she married the Doctor? Despite what he’d told her in Area 52 he’d known he would marry River Song, had known long before he admitted it. And he’d wanted it. He’d wanted that moment more than he had wanted anything for a long time. And she remembered none of it.

He chewed on the inside of his lip before finally venturing a look at her. She was still watching him, eyes a mix between hope and fear. He crossed to the dresser, pulling out the top drawer as he spoke. “River, my death was a fixed point. I died at Silencio because I always die there and you have to be the one to shoot me.”

“Why?”

“Because you always do.”

“And if I refuse?” He paused at that, hands pressing into the jumper he’d just laid inside, smiling at the note of defiance in her voice that reminded him that _his_ River was just below the surface, he only had to dig her out.

 “Oh River,” he hummed, lifting the drawer and pushing it shut. “Beautiful, clever, _stubborn_ River. You did refuse.” _And you are paying the price for it now._

 He debated how much to tell her, how much was safe. Inserting fresh memories where she had none would prove disastrous should she remember on her own. He turned back toward the chair, but she was quick, reaching out and snagging the edge of his tweed as he walked by. “You remember what really happened, don’t you?” She whispered, chin trembling slightly. “Show me.”

He shook his head. “River I can’t.”

 “Please. I want to see. I want to remember.” She tugged on his jacket and he reluctantly moved closer.

“River…”

“Please Doctor. You can fix this. You can make it all come back.” Her hands curled around his, pulling them to her temples and he could feel her mind opening to him, urging him on and he almost tumbled in as images of them, hands bound to one another swam to the front of his mind. Because he wanted her to know. Wanted her to look at him and think “husband,” and remember the pyramid and the promise he’d made her, but this was a dangerous game she was playing. She could wind up not remembering anything. Or worse, remembering everything all the time and risk madness because she would never know what memory was hers and what was given to her. And that was worse, she had no idea how much worse. That was the problem wasn’t it? That she had no idea. She didn’t know then and she didn’t know now. She’d damn near destroy the universe on a selfish, bloody whim, and she was willing to destroy herself all over again for what? A memory. A simple memory. This wasn’t child’s play. She could just take whatever she desired in the moment, “because there are serious consequences to your actions, River, and you need to learn to trust me. You need to know that no, means no!” 

His voice echoed through the bedroom and only then did he realize that he was actually speaking, had said everything he was thinking. And there was River, eyes wide, wrist caught tightly in his, too tightly. He loosened his grip. Her face was blank, unreadable as she pulled her wrist from his hand, turning herself over onto her side to face away from him. His shoulders fell. “River…” he ventured, pressing a hand into her shoulder which tensed under his touch. “What you are asking me to do is very dangerous. You mustn't ask it of me again.”

“Don’t worry.” She murmured, “I won’t,” her voice shaking as she pressed her face into the pillow.

He winced at the resignation in her voice. “River…” She curled into a tighter ball.

“I think it’s time for me to sleep now, Doctor.”

He stood there for another several moments, watching her frame and the tense way her shoulders rose and fell with each breath before finally giving in. The TARDIS lights dimmed around him as he slipped through the door pulling it softly shut behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! The mypoon might have been loosely based on my cat, Lily. She's so cute, I couldn't resist putting her in there for you. As always I would love to hear from you. Comment or Kudos are always exciting.   
> XOXO,   
> The Riverwatcher


	5. The Gallery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was absurd. River Song had once stood atop a pyramid and nearly destroyed the universe to tell him he was loved. He couldn’t even dig her diary out of the mud. He couldn’t find it. He’d searched newspapers and journals, archives, and museums there was just no record of River’s Diary after the Quimbly expedition. He couldn’t even determine if it was ever found.

** Chapter 4 **

The Gallery

“The Camera is no more the instrument of preservation, the image is.”

Berenice Abbott

 

 

XXX

 

The Doctor sat in the middle of the library floor, leaning against a sofa as he peered at a book from over the brim of his glasses. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, bowtie hanging limp around his neck, lips pressed into a thin line as he read intently. He finished the page with a sigh, fanning through the rest of the book before finally setting it aside with a terse huff. Scattered around him was an assortment of papers, stuffed into folders or bound by ribbon. There were newspapers too, and magazines, journals, and a stack of books to his right nearly as tall as he was. He snatched another book off the top of this stack and examined it. Title. Author. Publication year. Then turned to the index.

_Book, book, book,_ he chanted to himself, finger running down the list of B entries before stopping. _Book… Book of Adam, the… book binding… Book, Madeline._ He sighed and turned to the F’s. _Fantasia, aha!_ Grinning, he flipped to page 562.

The entry on the planet of Fantasia was a paragraph long and only consisted of a description of the colonization of the Braxi. There was no mention of the Lost Book or River’s diary. He snapped the cover shut and tossed it aside.

Around him the TARDIS hummed, an urgent buzz that matched his own frustration and the Doctor pulled off his glasses in order to rake his hands down his face. “I know, I know.”

They were losing her.

 The realization tightened into a hard ball in the center of his chest. It stole his breath, consumed his thoughts. And somehow, he found it all bitterly ironic. He’d run for centuries in hopes of avoiding her. “That woman isn’t dragging me into anything,” he’d once declared to Amy, only to have River prove him wrong once more. She always drug him in. And he always followed. Eagerly. No matter how fast he ran or how far, he always ended up back at her. And she’d smile at him, a gentle look that told him she knew everything he was thinking. She knew how much he was resisting. And she waited anyway. For years he’d prayed to find a way to free himself of the inevitability of River Song, to untangle their timelines and set her on her own path. Now he had that chance and all he wanted was River back. His River. He was a selfish man.

 He tossed aside another book.

It was absurd. River Song had once stood atop a pyramid and nearly destroyed the universe to tell him he was loved.  He couldn’t even dig her diary out of the mud. He couldn’t find it. He’d searched newspapers and journals, archives, and museums there was just no record of River’s Diary after the Quimbly expedition. He couldn’t even determine if it was ever found.

The Doctor let his head drop back against the settee cushion, pulling off his glasses and pressing fingers into tired eyes until yellow spots splattered his vision. His head lulled to one side, eyes fluttering open. He blinked a few times, his vision clearing as the fuzzy image of the little writing table nestled into the corner of the room sharpened into view. River’s desk. He didn’t even have to look to know that half edited proofs for River’s latest book lay strewn across the top, accompanied by random note pads filled with thoughts and ideas she’d jotted down as she researched. Everything was exactly the way she’d left it the last time she’d been on board. Proof of River, her presence, her brilliance, reaching out to him like her hand pressing gently into his shoulder the way she always did when he tried everything he could think of.  She’d lay her hand on his shoulder and lean into his ear and suggest just one more thing, something he hadn’t thought of yet and of course her solution would work. It always worked.  But she wasn’t with him now. She couldn’t solve this for him and he could feel time bending and scraping against itself, marking its own passing. He was running out of time.

It had been days—hours? minutes?—since she’d begged him to share his memories. Since he’d refused, and she’d retreated to a place deep within herself, curling up on her side and shutting him out. He’s slipped from their bedroom, only to return hours later to find the door locked and no one on the other side willing to let him in. She’d refused to let him in and she’d refused to come out. And the Doctor, with no other option, threw himself into the search for her missing diary, knowing all the while that they were beyond it now. That somehow a lost diary wasn’t really the problem anymore, never really was to begin with. It was just the only tangible solution he could offer.  And so he sat on the library floor, buried in books and texts on a futile mission, every so often, catching the occasional glimpse of movement from the corner of his eyes. River Song, a spectral figure with no past, resigned to no future, hovering aimlessly around the edge of the room. But then he’d turn his head and discovered that she wasn’t really there at all. She’d become her own shadow. His shadow.

He closed his eyes and the clock ticked. Time moved, ran, swirled around him. He struggled to push it away. To ignore it, and for a second he nearly succeeded, the maddening tick fading softly into the background as a calming fog filled his mind. It had been a while since he’d last slept. And he was so tired.

Somewhere a door squeaked, swinging on heavy hinges and the TARDIS jolted to lift around him. The Doctor’s eyes flew open, sleep fleeing his mind as he wrenched himself around, straining to see over the back of the sofa. River. His hearts nearly stopped in his chest when he saw her frame, wedged into a crack in the door, pulling an old woolen jumper tight across her chest as she took in the library with wide eyes. Her eyes slowly feel on him and he held his breath, half afraid that the next time he blinked she’d disappear. She flushed under his scrutiny.

 “I um… I’m sorry, did I wake you? I could…” She made to slip back out the door.

“No!” The Doctor called after her, sounding a bit more desperate that necessary. He thrust his hand over the back of the sofa, as if he could reach her from here, wrap his hand around her wrist and pull her back into the room. She did pause though, and he gave a nervous laugh when she’d turned back to him. “Don’t go,” he muttered, calmer this time. A smile fluttered across her lips, not happy exactly, more like relieved, and she leaned her face forward staring at something he couldn’t see clasped in her hands.

When she looked back up at him, her face was blank, coaxed into her customary mask, but it took the Doctor’s breath away because he had yet to see it on her face this young. “I brought a peace offering.” She smiled, watery eyes crinkling at the corners as she lifted two mugs of tea into view.  

 He gave her a soft smile and a slight nod of his head, an unspoken invitation for her to come in. He watched silently as she entered the room, skirting around the settee and pressing a mug into his hand before settling herself on the edge of the sofa, nervously clutching her own mug in her lap. “I, um…” her leg brushed against his shoulder as she fidgeted, “I realized that I didn’t know how you took your tea.” His eyes flicked down into the milky liquid. “The TARDIS laid out sugar and since I don’t take sugar I assumed that you did, but I didn’t know how much or…” The Doctor lifted the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip and forced a swallow. Not near enough sugar and he never took cream, but he smiled up at her anyway.

“Brilliant.”

She looked at him, doubtfully. “Really?”

He shrugged, “You underestimate my sweet tooth.” He set the mug onto the floor next, intent on changing the subject of their conversation. He turned around to prop an elbow on the seat, fingers running across the oversized jumper she was wearing, tracing the intricate red and black designs that weaved across the fabric. “I haven’t seen this in a while.”

 She smiled softly. “I found it by chance in the wardrobe.  Thought I had lost it.”

 “Mm, you left it here by mistake. After we visited New Aspen. We were going to go snow skiing, but they were having a heat wave. All the snow had melted and formed lakes in the valleys so we had a beach holiday instead.”  The Doctor smiled at the memory. He’d fallen asleep on the sand and burnt a brilliant shade of red. Could barely stand to wear his tweed for a week and River who had toasted a perfect shade of gold just teased him relentlessly. Kept threatening to drop him off in eighteenth century America. “Honestly, sweetie they have no idea what a lobster back really looks like until they see you!” The Doctor’s eyes lifted to hers, sparkling and dancing. “Do you remember that one?”

River’s eyes sparkled too, but for a different reason as she gave a slight shake to her head. She sighed deeply, lifting her eyes to the shelves of books that towered over her, three stories tall. Oh she could try and pretend that everything was alright as long as he couldn’t see her eyes. It was older River’s habit and it usually worked. Hide the eyes, hide the heart. This is where it began, then. This was how River learned to tuck it all away, because he just kept asking if she recalled this or remembered that and she couldn’t bear to tell him ‘no’ any longer.

  “I have been here before, I remember the settee,” she offered bouncing a little on the cushions. The Doctor followed her subject change.

  “When you were working on your dissertation. You made me reorganize the library so that all the archaeology books were next to the desk” He pointed to a bookcase that stood out from the rest, decorated with black and gold and filled with books old, new, and some that had yet to be written. River rose, moving toward it, and stepping over a large pile of journals as she did so. “Apparently you found Luna’s holding on Gallifrey lacking.”

  “Well, if you want to know something you might as well go straight to the source.” She said, pulling a book off the shelf at random and opening the cover.

“This is your favorite room.” He offered, “Sometimes you just randomly pop in with first editions or long lost works. You stocked nearly a quarter of the library with books from the Berlin burnings alone.” She sent him a look through the curls that had fallen into her eyes. “And when we have a row you lock yourself in and refuse to come out for hours.”

  Mischievous eyes lifted to him, bright. “Do I?”

 He nodded eagerly “One time you locked yourself in here for 3 days. It was the time we save that… planet… from that… thing.”  He voice faded, the story not nearly as fun to relate when it incorporated spoilers. But River didn’t seem to notice.

   “Must have been some fight.”

  “It was.”

  “And the make-up?”

 His ears burned bright red. The timeline curled around, glowing brilliantly, recalling the memories before his eyes. Their bodies intertwined. The slick saltiness of her skin. Her heavy breathing in his ear, muttering words of forgiveness, reaffirming their future. _I’ll always choose you, my love. There is never a universe where I don’t choose you._ The Doctor could prevent the broad grin stretching across his face if he’d tried. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” she teased, snapping the book shut and setting it back on the shelf. Her fingers pressed tightly into the book’s binding, dragging slowly down the gold embossed title.

His brow furrowed because something about her was shifting. He couldn’t pin point it, but he could feel it. “River?” Her fingers traced along the bottom of the books, lost in thought. “River?” He tried again, a little louder this time.

 “I think you should take me back to Elion.” She whispered softly and the Doctor jolted into a sitting position, body tense and jaw working as he watched her.

  “Why?”

“I’m not her, not really.” She tilted her head and pulled a trinket off the shelf, an old meteor that she’d uncovered on an expedition several hundred years from now. “I could have been at one point, very nearly did become her, I think. But…” she turned to him, face relaxed and somber, but pale, an unearthly shade as she offered him an apologetic smile. “I failed. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She opened her mouth and shut it again, turning back to the shelf so that he couldn’t see her face and setting the rock down with a sharp clack. And was it shame that made her hid from him? River Song? Scared to tell him her secrets when, hundreds of years from now she would lay in his arms and speak all of her dreams into the darkened air around them. 

“River was my fresh start. I had plans for her. She was going to be different from Mels and Melody. She was going to be free. She was going to be in control of her own life and make her own decisions.” She turned to him eagerly, eyes sparkling “Like going to Luna. In the beginning I went because I was looking for you, but when I got there, got my hands properly in the dirt, I realized that I _liked_ it. I loved it, actually, and for the first time I realized that River Song could mean something. She could actually contribute something instead of taking away.”

And the Doctor couldn’t help but fell pride swell in his chest because of course River hand done everything she said she would. She’d written books and made discoveries. She’d overturned years of faulty research. In the 86th century she would be touted as one of the most pre-eminent archaeologists of her time. River, _his_ River. Sometimes she shined so brightly she was blinding.

 “Sounds like quite the ambition.”

  “I suppose. Doesn’t really matter. River is just as selfish and trapped as before.” She gave a bitter laugh, rolling her eyes against the threat of tears, “she’s done so much evil that a Teselecta in the middle of prewar Berlin actually aborted its mission to assassinate Adolph Hitler in favor of her. What does that say about River Song, hm? That wasn’t how this was supposed to work. She was going to be better than this.”

 River brushed an angry hand under her eyes, wiping away the glisten on her cheek as she fell against the desk, angling her head to see all of her books. The Doctor pulled himself to his feet, knocking his tea over in the process and glancing down just in time to see it soak into the floor without a trace. He moved around the desk, positioning himself next to her and crossing his arms over his chest as she cast an eye over the shelves. “It’s an impressive collection,” he conceded.

She swallowed, sniffing softly. “I owe you an apology.

 He sighed, “No, you really don’t.”

  She looked up at him, pressing her shoulder against his, “yes I do. I shouldn’t have asked it of you.  You’re right, it was dangerous and selfish and I knew that. I’m sorry.” She paused for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue. “It’s just…”

 “What?” 

“1100 years, Doctor. Do you ever forget?”

My but she was brave, wasn’t she?

 He took a deep breath as he thought. Did he ever forget? He thought of all his years and all he’d seen. The births and deaths, creation and destruction, successes and failures. Indeed, some where hazy and some were as clear as though they had just happened. He thought of the images that plagued his dreams. Daleks and Silence, a burning Gallifrey and a scared little girl trapped in a spacesuit. Did he ever forget? “Not nearly as much as I’d like.” He exhaled. “I’ve seen a lot in my time, River. Sometimes it haunts me.” And then he turned to her, a cynical smile tugging at his lips. “You and I make a good pair, yea? The girl who can’t remember and the man who never forgets.”

“How do you keep it all in your head? How do you keep the darkness out? Prevent the bad memories from consuming all the good?” The Doctor scoffed, because of course he didn’t. Had never really perfected that task. That’s why, after all, he had Amy and Rory and River. Martha, Donna, Rose. It’s why he’d had them all, to keep the night terrors from becoming his constant companion. But that wasn’t exactly helpful, was it? No to her. Slipping a hand between them, he wrapped his fingers around hers, thumb running over scarred skin.

 “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

XXX

  He pulled her into the hallway, arm wrapped around hers as he led her deep into the heart of the ship. He steered her through the endless labyrinth of corridors, turning left, then right, taking stairs up or down and slipping through doors. The tile disappeared under their feet as did the warm lighting, both replaced by a metal sterility meant to be functional but not ornate. At heart, the TARDIS was, after all, a brilliant piece of machinery. Sentient yes, but mechanical nonetheless. Any bit of luxury was purely for her thief’s pleasure.

 Judging by the look on her face, the way she stared about them as though a child at the fair, River had never ventured so far into the ship. Not that there had been a need for her to. The TARDIS organized her rooms according to use. Commonly used rooms were located right next to the console: the kitchen, bedrooms, infirmary. The squash courts and library were a bit further in, patiently waiting for those who searched him out.  Rooms this deep in, however, were superfluous, once been frequented by friends and companions but now abandoned. Rooms that he couldn’t bring himself to use or delete. He was bad at that, running from the memories. He’d once created an entirely new wardrobe because every time he walked in, he pictured Donna standing in front of a mirror and grumbling about a new diet, a heap of clothes at her feet.

 “What do you know about Gallifrey?” he asked conversationally, eyes lingering on a familiar pink door that they passed. River’s arm tightened around his, running her free hand over his forearm.

“I have a PhD in archaeology with a specialty in lost civilizations. I wrote a dissertation on the intergalactic conquests of the Time lords and have personally excavated three of those sites myself. I know a great deal about Gallifrey.” She smiled up at him “Want to be more specific?”

He gave her a coy smile and tapped her on the nose. “Clever girl. I meant our achievements.”

She shrugged, scrunching her nose. “They resolved the paradoxes that made time travel possible, established the universal metric time used in music, invented paint….”

He nodded, remembering back to the courses at university, the pressure to succeed, to create. “We were a driven people.” River opened her mouth to speak, taking a deep breath before she thought better of it. He threw her a sideways glance from the corner of his eyes. “What?”

“It’s just… Driven by what, exactly? I’ve always wondered.  The Time Lords were so prolific, it’s seems that the only way to truly be exceptional was to not accomplish anything. It almost reads like an obsession.”

His lips curled dryly, clearly amused by her observation . “What? You think all the Time lords were just a bunch of overachievers?”

“Weren’t they?” She scrunched her nose and he pulled back in mock horror.

“No, River, we were not!” Before conceding, “alright maybe a bit… maybe a lot actually. Oh god, River. You’d have hated it. All their rules and the pressure. They really were over starched.”

Her brow rose and she gave him a soft smile. “I’m sure I’d have liked a visit, though, darling.”

“That wasn’t really my point” he said, smoothing down the back of his hair. “Point is you’re right. We were driven by more than ambition. We were driven by memories, regeneration, the odd alternate timeline.  If you live a hundred years, a thousand years seeing everything set out before you it gets to be too much to hold all in your head. You need a place to store it all, so that the integrity of the memory is preserved. Time lords created, compulsively in order to have a place to imprint their lives.”

“Like an external hard drive?”

“Exactly, it was obsessive. We imprinted on everything we created.  My father made perfume. My mother composed music, I once had a sister who wove robes.” The Doctor swallowed at the memory, for he rarely ever thought about his parents, about his life on Gallifrey.

 “But doesn’t it get a bit…” She waved her hand about her ears, “noisy after a while? Having an entire planet imprinted with everyone’s memories?”

The Doctor shook his head, “no because the creator is the only one who can engage the memory. To everyone else it was just an ordinary object.”

They came to the end of the corridor then and River stopped short, sending him a questioning glance. He tugged her to the right, turning them down a new corridor that she hadn’t previously noticed —perception filter—and felt her freeze next to him. It was like standing in the midst of an eighteenth century castle. The doors, far from being the functional, were lavish and ornate, heavy pieces of wood painted and carved in intricate designs. Ancient murals crested over the walls and plush carpet lined the floor. The ceiling appeared to be gilded. Beside him, River gasped. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

“Oh, now she’s just showing off.”  He wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t, but honestly it was unfair how the Old Girl played favorites. But then again. Wasn’t that what he did as well?

“Doctor, where are we going?” She whispered next to her, but he didn’t cast her a glance. Instead, he moved them forward, setting a pace slow enough for River to take everything in. Her fingers trailed the walls beside them, gliding over ancient paint that predated them both. His hearts pounded in his chest. It surprised him. He didn’t think it would be this hard, bringing someone down here. The last person who knew this even existed had been Susan, and even then she never came. She’d always given him his space.

“Doctor?” Her concerned voice pulled him from his thoughts and he glanced over at her, giving her a fixed smile. She stopped, pulling on his arm as he tried to move her further into the hallways. “You don’t have too, you know.”

“I want to, River.” His voice was thicker than he’d intended it. He swallowed thickly, dropping his gaze to the floor, and resuming his stride up the hallway.

After a few strides a soft hand slid into the crook of his elbow, “If your mother wrote music and your sister wove fabric, what did you do, then, my love?”

Ah, what a brilliant question. He smiled then, sweeping his hand across the nearby wall. River watched as it painted crinkled under his touch and turned up, a solid curtain covering an old splintering door. “I paint,” he replied, pushing the door open.  

It was a gallery, wide and seemingly endless with white walls covered in art of all kinds. There was oil, water color, pastels, and graphite. Many were hanging in frames or bare, while others were stacked and propped against the wall. There were pictures from all eras of his life, before and after the Time War. Portraits of Susan hung next of Tagan and Romana. Rose and her mum laughing over a Christmas turkey. Martha Jones on stage at the globe. Donna Noble and Agatha Christie. There was no rhyme or reason to where he hung them. And while many of the works he had created before he’d stolen the TARDIS can been lost with Gallifrey, a few still survived. The most important ones.

She moved closer to him in order to peer into the room, and he caught the faint scent of soap and flowers embedded in her curls and heard her soft gasp as she slipped passed him, a soft shoulder brushing against his chest as she disappeared into the room. He didn’t follow, not at first. He knew what was inside, had lived all those moments. They were his best and his worst and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to watch River as she acquainted herself with each of them.

“Sweetie?” she called to him, her voice soft and from just inside the doorway. He straightened then, infusing his body with an eagerness he did not feel. He nodded her on, shoving nervous hands into the depths of his pockets and stepped into the room.

 “This is the first time I’ve ever brought anyone down here.”

To his left, there was a painting of his first child’s loom, with all the hopes and dreams of a new father buried deep within the paint, and next to it was a pencil drawing of his wife carrying their young daughter through the back garden of their home. “She was beautiful.” River whispered, as if afraid to disturb the happy scene. He moved behind her, trying to see what she did, to see it for the first time. He couldn’t. He’d painted the picture to remember a sunny afternoon, but couldn’t recall what it was like seeing his wife for the first time. Couldn’t quite remember the courting or the wedding. 1100 years did that. And he refused to read the imprint and remember.

Unable to look at the haunting face anymore, he moved on, to another painting, a happier one, and soon River was by his side, gazing over his shoulder. Donna Noble’s face peering through a round window silently yelling, “This is brilliant!”

“I have ever told you about the time Donna Noble and I rescued thousands of Adipose?”

“No you haven’t. What’s an Adipose?”

He laughed. “Another story for another time.” They moved on.

“What’s behind here?” She asked when she came to a thick red velvet curtain stretched across the back half of one wall. Her fingers curled around the fabric and she tugged at the edge with a mischievous grin to peer around it, “something naughty?” But when she glanced back at him the smile slid from her face.

“Sometimes,” he started slowly, words measured. “You find yourself imprinting in order to be rid of memories. So that they don’t plague your dreams.”

“Does it work?”

He brushed passed her. “Not at all.”

He watched as River turned back to the curtain, deciding. He hadn’t told her not to lift it, hadn’t forbidden her anything in this room. But she didn’t need to lift the curtain to know what lay behind. Vision so of Daleks and Weeping Angels, memories of the Time War, of people who’d died because of him, of those he’d lost. She unfurled her fingers.

“I’m not a good man, River.” His voice shook.

“I know, darling. I’ve known for a long time.” She sighed. “But you’re not a bad man, either. You’re nothing like they’d said you’d be.”

“If I’m not a good man or a bad man, what am I then?”

She turned to him, nimble fingers, running the length of his jaw line. “You just are, love.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Come on show me what else you have in here.”

He showed her a picture of Rose, blond hair hanging limp and stringy about her ears as she hurled a snowball his way. There was a picture of Donna eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and scattering crumbs about the dash. Martha in her UNIT uniform. Liz Shaw by her equipment. Sarah Jane playing with K-9. River walked the gallery for what felt like hours. She fit the painting into what’d she could recall of the Doctor’s travels and asked him to elaborate on others. He’d told her stories that he was sure she’d heard before and knew she’d hear again. But she laughed and listened all the same. She commented on their artistic quality—“really, darling, they are marvelous.” But for the most part he stood in the background and gave her free reign.

And finally, just finally as he thumbed through some old sketches he’d left forgotten in a portfolio, he realized that she’d been standing emptily at the end of the hall for the longest time. He knew why when he moved closer, seeing the painting before her. It was an oil of Amy and the Last Centurion, a baby cuddled between them. Melody. Her fingers pressed into the fabric of the canvas, reaching, striving for that precise moment that they had been a complete, normal family.

Silently, the Doctor reached out, wanting nothing more than to be able to give her that moment back. Surely this memory was alright. No massive spoilers, no life altering events. He covered her hands with his and flattening her palms against the oil. He could feel her relax back into him, gravitating to the warmth of his body. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into her curls as he closed his eyes and unlocked the imprint.

The image shuddered to life, a golden wave of light shimmering through the lines of the painting, seeping into the tints. The memory came as colors first. Soft pastels that turned to warm jewel tones. Warmth and love swelled through the rough paint, seeping into their bodies as the colors swirled into images. Rory and Amy. They appeared in a flash of light, smiling over the baby between them.

“Oh, I was going to be cool. I wanted to be cool. Look at me.” Rory sniffled, batting his eyes at the bright lights above them.

“You’re okay. Crying Roman with a baby. Definitely Cool. Come here, you.”  River laughed softly at the exchange. Amelia Pond, a mother! Full of awe, bright and golden as she look on her beautiful child. Beautiful little Melody Pond. The Superhero. The Doctor came, gapping and smiling, straightening his bow tie. Together, River and the Doctor felt the burning pride, strong and purple as it had filled his chest. And oh the feel of baby Melody in his arms, little and squirming, the warmth of her on his chest and she cooed up at him. He loved her instantly as his third Pond. He’d love her forever as his Song.

The memory faded and River stood unmoving, hands still desperately pressed into the canvas, unsatisfied.

“Show me again,” she whimpered and the Doctor pressed a firm kiss to the back of her head, pressing his forehead into her curls.

“It won’t help. They’re my memories, not yours. They won’t stay.”

River pulled her hands out from under his, breath shaking as she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him as tightly to her as she could. And the warmth of her against his chest, the Doctor sighed into the embrace.

“You know,” he said after a pause, listen to the steadiness of her breathe, the gentle rise and fall of her back against his arms. His hand shifting her back from him, far enough that he could cup her face in his palm. “Our story isn’t over if you never remember. It just means we start over. Make new memories.”

“Teach me. Please teach me to do this.” She pleaded in his ear.

“Of course,” He tucked his fingers into her hair, brushing against her tender scalp.

“I don’t want to forget anything else.”

“Never.”

She smiled at him, a quivering gesture as a tear trickled out of the corner of her eyes and the Doctor decided that he’d seen her cry enough for a lifetime. He quickly bent his head, kissing the tear from her cheek. River gave a soft inhale at that, and turned her face into his, pressing her lips against his own.

The Doctor thought about all the kisses he’d shared with her before now and all the adventures they’d had, and he wondered how long it would take for his own memories began to fade.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, I'm eager to hear what you think.   
> XOXO,   
> The Riverwatcher


	6. Methatron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re in for a treat, the Bazaar at Methatron is universally known as one of the last true Bazaars by the 361st century. It’s a virtual melting pot. Vendors from all over the galaxy drift into the city, bringing assortments of food, clothing, books and antiques. It’s a refuge for all the lost arts and visitors come from all over to walk the streets, drink the cocoa, and eat the cuisine. Wandering aimlessly, it can take months to see everything. I did that once, park the TARDIS and spent a good six months here.

** Chapter 5 **

Methatron

“Not all who wander are lost.”

-J. R. Tolkien

 

XXX

****

River stood at the top of the stairs, staring down in the console room and watching the Doctor’s elaborate and well-timed dance around the console. He moved with an unexpected grace, with side steps and twirls, and never lost his footing the way he might by simply walking along the pavement. It was remarkable, really, like his feet weren’t really his own when he was with his Old Girl. He was standing with his back to her now, hammering rapidly into the typewriter and lifting a lever with enough force that it seemed to make the entire TARDIS shake. Then, he paused, arm still lifted in mid-air above his head. He turned to her, smile spread wide on his face as he took her in. River Song dressed and primped for another adventure. How very normal.

“Hello.” He called to her, uncertain of why his voice seemed a little unsteady, but it was quickly forgotten when he saw her face light up and her eyes sparkle as she straightened. “You look nice.” He swallowed, watching her form descend the stairs.

River shrugged. “Had to get a little creative since somebody wouldn’t tell me where we were going.”

The Doctor scoffed and turned back to the console to hit a final button. “I told you where we were going.”

“To the market isn’t a suitable answer, Doctor.”

“And why ever not?”

“Because it’s too vague. ‘To the market’ What does that mean, exactly? Which Market? Which planet? What century?”

“Ah!” He leaned forward, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. “You’re getting the hang of it now.” She giggled. _Giggled._ And the sound filled him with a strange sensation, like this all might potentially work somehow, but then again that was the point of today. He’d promised her an afternoon free from Fantasia and Silencio, free, even from Luna.

He tugged the monitor down, scanning over the environmentals, “but your right. ‘Market’ doesn’t do it justice. It’s more like a… bazaar.” When he was finished, he pressed the monitor back to its normal position over his head. “Methatron, ever heard of it?” River gave a slight shake of her head, curls swaying. “Oh well then,” he bounced on his toes, unable to cap _all_ the excitement and he turned for the door, calling to her over his shoulder. “You’re in for a treat, the Bazaar at Methatron is universally known as one of the last true Bazaars by the 361st century. It’s a virtual melting pot. Vendors from all over the galaxy drift into the city, bringing assortments of food, clothing, books and antiques. It’s a refuge for all the lost arts and visitors come from all over to walk the streets, drink the cocoa, and eat the cuisine. Wandering aimlessly, it can take months to see everything. I did that once, park the TARDIS and spent a good six months here. And this is it!”  He grasped the TARDIS door with both hands and turned back to River as he flung the doors open, chest puffed out as he prepared himself for River’s gasp of awe. Instead, she stepped into him, pressing her chest against his as she peered over his shoulder, surveying their surroundings with a crooked brow, unimpressed.

“It looks a bit deserted, Sweetie.”

  The Doctor frowned. “Deserted? Deserted! It’s not Deserted it’s just—“ He stopped, mouth hanging open midsentence as he turned and glanced outside. It was deserted. He scratched his head.

They were in an alleyway. Just a regular old brick alleyway. With a dumpster and a ladder. And brick walls covered in posters in various degrees of tear and deterioration. And—wait, was that a marquee for Regina McSwarthline? The Doctor squinted as he swayed over to the poster. Good ole Regina, it must have been what, five, ten years since he saw one of Regina’s shows. He glanced at his watch. Alright, twenty five, but what’s a little time between friends? And he bet she and River would get along marvelously. The last time he’d introduced them, they had.  

  “You know it’s generally bad form to take a girl on a date and then spend all your time ogling the shapely figure of some cabaret singer.” River’s voice, smooth and silky spread through the alley. The Doctor jumped.

 “I didn’t… I wasn’t… River, it’s _Regina._ ” He turned to her, gesturing at the poster over his shoulder as if that was all the proof he needed that he wasn’t ogling anything.  River just stared at him, a faint sparkle in her eyes and tongue peeking out from between her teeth in a grin. She gave the poster a once over before she shrugged.

 “Nice legs.”  She turned, following the faint sounds of people up the alleyway. The Doctor stumbled after her.

‘No! River. Not, ‘nice legs.’ No legs. I wasn’t looking at her legs.” River let out a low chuckle.

“Oh Sweetie, you were looking at her legs.”

“No, I really wasn’t.”

 She paused then, so suddenly that he bumped into her as she turned to him. “Oh really? ‘Cause I was.” The Doctor’s mouth went dry. Honestly, how did she always manage to have this effect on him? It’s not like he didn’t _know_. He swayed nervously on his feet, fidgeting hands alternating between scratching his head and smoothing the hair at the nape of his neck. He must look a bit ridiculous. He _felt_ a bit ridiculous, and anyway the point was mute because the marquee was from a show two months ago.

River let out a hearty laugh, hands curling around his arms and stilling his twiddling. “Darling, I’m only teasing. It’s _fine._ ” She muttered, stepping into him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He took a deep breath, inhaling the floral scent of her hair and felt something loosen in his chest. She was right. It was fine. She was fine. He gave a meek laugh and River smiled back, quite pleased with herself. “Now, you promised me a frivolous afternoon spent on Methatron.”

Up a head, the alleyway ended into the mainstreet, bustling with life. There, hundreds of tents stretched as far as the eye could see, endless chattering and laughter rumbled through the live stream of people wandering through the maze. There were couples and individuals. Women struggling to curtail their toddlers and adolescents huddled together in groups. The Doctor could hear the faint chanting of an auctioneer somewhere in the distance, and could smell fresh baked bread, but when he looked to River, the sparkle and humor had faded from her eyes. Her teeth were clenched, a muscle running the length of her jaw twitching as she hesitated at the edge of the street, clutching his hand in hers.  The Doctor bent to whisper in her ear, “Just a frivolous afternoon, yea?”

Her head turned to him, almost mechanical, but the tension in her eyes softened when she saw him. She took a deep breath, “yea.”

 

They looked at art and jewelry. Sauntered through the cosmetics section and stopped for tea. He liked the hat booths best, of course he did, and River stood patiently by pretending to be annoyed as he tried on hat after hat. She secretly loved it, though. He could tell by the slight tilt of her lips. Knew it for certain when she scrunched her nose at the fez he modelled, whisking it off his head before dropping a silken top hat in its place. “Yea?” He asked, a wide toothed smile splitting his face as he turned his head from side to side for her benefit. She simply shrugged, a coy smile tugging at her lips, before sending an uncertain glance into the crowd. The Doctor removed the hat with a flourish, twirling it through his fingers and earning a laugh in response as he replaced it on the mannequin head. Whistling a soft tune, he pressed his hand into her hip and ushered her to the next booth. Top hats, who would have thought? 

Eventually they ended up at a textile booth owned by a friend of the Doctor’s, a tall and gangly Abruvian man with six arms and blue scales. As the two men chatted, animated hand gestures big and friendly as though long lost cousins only just reunited, River hovered around the perimeter of the booth, hands grazing over the soft silks and satins, the synthetic materials, knitted and quilted. But she was distracted, unable to fully focus on the cloth.  She watched people pass out of the corner of her eye, startling at the slightest of sounds, a laugh too loud, a child’s cry, a drunken tourist stumbling into a nearby tent. The Doctor watched her from around the Abruvian’s head as they chatted, unable to keep himself from smiling at the way her fingers brushed gently over the soft fabrics. His eyes flicked back to his friend, just long enough to be polite, to feign interest in the conversation, but it was apparent to anyone who looked closely enough that his attention was elsewhere. His eyes shifted back to her again, this time catching her gaze from across the stall. River flushed and glanced away, beginning her search through the fabric in earnest as the Doctor excused himself as quickly as possible and still be polite.

“Anything catch your eye?” he asked, joining her on the other end of the counter. She absently flipped a piece of blue brocade over in her palm.

“They’re all so beautiful.”

“X’ylar has some of the best finds here. This, for example,” he reached for apiece of shimmery green fabric tucked away at the back of the table. “This is very rare. It’s called Magnira and its woven by Monks in the Plenoid valley on Straxum. It’s thought to be the softest fabric there is. Feel.”

He lifted the fabric to her, but she didn’t take it. Instead, her eyes lifted to him, fixated the way his mouth moved when he spoke, and she took one, almost imperceptible, step toward him. The Doctor noticed it instantly. He noticed how her energy tried to draw him closer, how he warmed with the nearness of her, how his fingers tingled with the need to touch her. He licked his lips and struggled to swallow as he tried to remind himself that this was only an illusion. That this wasn’t truly River, not his River, not yet and that this… _this_ could not happen.  Because the River standing before him, fluttering so chaotically between contentment and despair, madness and sanity, was nowhere near ready to match the heat burning in his chest. Even as he lifted the fabric to her cheek and she gingerly turned her head into its softness and his touch, he reminded himself that she must have blocked Area 52 and with that, their wedding, for a reason.

“Like you to buy?” An automated voice broke the Doctor’s train of thought and River jumped at the intrusion. The Doctor glanced down at her, questioning. It would all be hers if she asked, the Magnira, the silks, the whole both. But she simply smiled sheepishly, for their near encounter or for his willingness to indulge her he wasn’t sure, and shook her head.

“Maybe next time.” He answered, carefully refolding the cloth and laying it back down.

She was waiting for him in the center of the street, a statue amid the constant movement of shoppers. “Which way now?” He asked, and she gravitated closer to his side, a hand curling around the sleeve of his tweed as they huddled in the center of the street, pushed and pulled every so often by the tide of traffic. She glanced down at the road behind them, then ahead of them, chewing on her bottom lip. “What’s down there?” She asked, pointing across him, to a smaller road that turned off to their left.

The road was considerably less busy than the mainstreet, and if he had to guess, it was probably why she had picked it. He didn’t have to look hard to see the effect such a large crowd was having on her. She was a bit pale and her fingers shook slightly in the crook of his arm, nerves frayed by the overwhelming sounds and sights of so many people in one place at one time. Rightfully so. He didn’t imagine the holding cells at Elion provided much stimulation to the senses.

Down here, the streets here were cobblestoned and vendors were less tents than little store fronts where customers could walk up to front counters for their services or step inside for a more detailed experience. As the roar of mainstreet died slowly behind them, River seemed to relax a bit.

“Now this is nice.” She sighed, calmly looking around. “Do you come here often?”

He made a big show of considering the answer, thinking, calculating, before taking a deep breath and leaning into her ear. “Spoilers,” he whispered and earned a little grunt and pinch from her in return.

“That’s mean.” She cried, but she smiled.

“No, that’s payback.”

“For?”

“You’ll see.” As he spoke a large yellow dog tore from a nearby store and launched itself at them, barking joyously as it jumped toward the Doctor and, placing its front legs on his shoulders, pushed him flat on his bum. The Doctor, for his part looked temporarily stunned before breaking into a large grin. “Prancer? Oh look River! It’s Pracer!” he cried, rubbing furiously behind the dog’s ears as it licked his face.

“Oh, oh!” A large round woman came bursting form the store “mister, I am so sorry.” 

“Maria!” The Doctor pushed the dog’s face aside enough to grin up at the woman. She had a magnificent head of silvery brown hair ornately twisted and tucked onto her scalp, far overshadowing the plain calico dress and matching apron she wore. The woman slowed at the sound of his voice, realizing who her visitors were.  “Doctor? Oh and Doctor Song!”  If Maria’s face brightened when she saw the Doctor, she reserved a special enthusiasm for River, who she encased in a crushing hug. “It has been so long.” She declared before pushing River away and holding her at arm’s length in order to examine her from head to toe. “You do not visit as you should,” Maria scowled.  

River let out a breathless chuckle, eyes wide, trying to think of something to say because she honestly had no idea who this jolly woman with red cheeks was.

“Yes of course, River,” The Doctor interjected, pulling himself to his feet and wrapping an arm around her to get her attention “it must have been months since you’ve come to see Maria. How you’ve managed so long I have no idea.”

Maria scoffed, lifting a handful of River’s hair and tutting as it frizzed from her fingers “doesn’t appear she has. Oh and your hands!” She exclaimed drawing River’s calloused and scarred hand into her softer one. Maria turned it over to examine where River’s nails had broken and split. She clucked again, “Playing in the dirt again, I see, Doctor Song.” She glanced up as if prepared to scold a child, but then her face lightened, “That’s alright. I fix,” and turned abruptly, disappearing into a little storefront.

“But…” River stammered, still stunned from the rush of the encounter

 “Hairdresser,” he supplied, whispering under his breath as he wrapped an arm around her and guided her toward Maria’s shop. This was no time for spoilers. “Only one you’ll even think of letting come near that head of yours. She adores you because your one of the few people willing speak German with her.” Together they passed through the veiled entrance.

The inside of the store was little more than a tented shack. Walls were draped with fabric and garments, nowhere near as nice as those they just left. In the corner stood a 3 paneled mirror that was cracked at the top. Shoes lines the walls and bits of custom jewelry littered tables, racks and stands. Maria skirted a counter in front of them and disappeared behind a beaded curtain.

“I swear this is a bit like having amnesia. Everyone seems to know everything about me except me,” River huffed under her breath. The Doctor gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s exhausting.”

Before he could respond, a big boned blonde woman shouldered her way through the beaded curtain. “A Little birdy told me,” the baritone boomed with thick “r’s” and guttural vowels and River’s eyes widened.

“Olga!” the Doctor cried, glancing up and down “Hello,” he swallowed, pulling at his collar. “You’ve grown since I’ve seen you last.”

“It’s Doctor Song!” Olga cried, lumbering over to them. “and you’ve brought your man, too.” In one swift swipe, Olga’d crushed the Doctor to her upper body, burying his face in her rather well developed bosom and twirled him around, planting a wet kiss on him before sitting him down. River watched the entire scene with a raised brow.

“Oh course I am bigger. I am sixteen now. I was only twelve the last time you saw me.”

The Doctor laughed, “ah uh… imagine that.” He tugged on his coat, trying to catch his breath. “Six…uh, look River. She’s sixteen!” He turned slightly dazed eyes to her.

“I can see that.”

“And I am waiting for that handsome Atraxi boy you promised.”

“Right you are, and I shall introduce you next time I come.” He gave a sort of salute to her that was far out of place and grinned. Olga didn’t notice though as she had already turned to River who stood tense, ready to receive the same welcome. Instead, Olga clasped River by the shoulders and pressed their cheeks together, making a pecking sound at the air before shifting River harshly to the other side and replicating the action.

“See,” she whispered conspiratorially to River. “I remember the greeting of the ancient Earthlings just as you taught me.” Olga grinned and River couldn’t help but laugh at her obvious pleasure. “You certainly have!”

Maria appeared once more in the doorway. “Water’s ready!” She announced, “Olga, go fetch the Klinen treatment” and the girl went scurrying off. Maria turned to River, lifting her arms to invite her back. “All set now, yes?”

“You ok with this?” The Doctor whispered, closing the gap between them.

“Do I have much of a choice?” She asked before smiling at his concern. “I’d like to see you try and take Olga if I say ‘no.””

The Doctor grimaced and glanced at the young girl busy mixing potions. “Might send me to my next regeneration.”

River laughed. “I’ll be fine, dear. What will you do?”

“Oh I’ll just prattle about here and there.”

“Doctor, I will give her back to you good like new in one hour half.”

“Counting on you, Maria” he said with a charming smile, eyes following River as she passed through the little entryway. As the haze of beads fell behind them he heard River’s friendly voice ask “Wie geht is Ihnen heute?” The sound of them chattering in German faded as they disappeared to the back.

 

An hour and half later, the Doctor lifted the curtain over the front of Maria’s store and stepped inside. His eyes immediately fell on River, standing in front of the three fold mirror. Her hair, washed and clean, bounced with lively curls and a golden hue that shined in the light. She was draped in a green velvet gown tied around her waist with a yellow tasseled sash. The fabric cut in at her chest and flowed out at her hip. Long angled sleeves hung by her side, all in keeping with traditional Trinitarian attire.

He watched for a moment unnoticed as Maria circled around her, fluffing River’s curls and tightening the sash. Olga sat at her feet filing away at the fingers on her right hand, chattering away about this and that. River smiled politely, but she looked tired.

Her eyes caught his in the mirror and she brightened a bit, stood straighter, smiled broader, which of course chuffed him a little bit to know that he had such a visible effect on her. She turned to see him over her shoulder.

“What do you think?” she asked, nervously, fluffing at her hair before clutching her hands in front of her.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved toward her, reaching fingers out to graze at the fabric across her stomach, down her sides, over her hips, rubbing the feel of it between his fingers as it dropped to the ground. He licked his lips.

“Maria said green was my color.” She whispered from above him. He looked up at her, only now realizing how close he was to her. “She says it matched my eyes.”

His eyes ran her body one more time. “She’s right.”  His hand moved up to catch hers, ignoring the scars when her sleeve fell back. “Look at those,” he teased, running a thumb over freshly trimmed and cleaned nails. “Don’t even think that hand belongs to you.” She huffed playfully and slapped him once on the shoulder as he bent to kiss her hand.

“I hope she meets your approval, Doctor.” Maria called, a knowing smile stretched

her lips as she pretended to fold the fabric in the background.

            His eyes locked on River’s. “She’s perfect.” He breathed and her hand squeezed his.

            He paid double Maria’s charge as he knew was always River’s custom and then they joined the now waning traffic off the street. The sun, a giant green orb, was beginning to sag heavily in the sky, streaking brilliant shades of blues and red across the clouds.

            “Tired?” He asked when they turned back onto the mainstreet, and he knew she was when she didn’t reprimand him for hovering. Instead, she smiled a very noncommittal answer. “Still have it in you for dinner? I know a great little food trolley just up from here.” She hummed her agreement.

XXX

 The food carts lined up on a little boardwalk that overlooked the River Natra, filling the air with a colorful mixture of smells. The Doctor had led her to a little bench, making sure she was comfortable before taking leave to find them something to eat. “It’ll be delicious, River. I promise.”

She waited for him, feet tucked up underneath her and the length of robe cascading over her legs, one arm propped up on the edge of railing as she quietly stared down into the gently flowing river, watching the silhouettes of fish as they slithered up stream. She tried not to count the minutes, but found herself failing. Sighing, she shifted her gaze from the water to the stream of people, couples, families, sauntering down the boardwalk with handfuls of greasy ferret rolls, sucking seeds from the center of gyra fruit. She analyzed them as they passed, cataloguing their faces and memorizing their behavior. She was staring at a little boy, crouched in front of a gull and trying to force feed it bread when the Doctor appeared out of nowhere, sitting down next to her with two hands filled with food and a small bottle of wine trapped between his elbow and his chest.

 He sat there for a moment, hoping that she’d register his presence on her own. She didn’t. “River?” he called quietly to her. “Comeback to me, River.” She turned back to him. It took her a moment before a smile, taunt and hollow spread across her face. And the Doctor found that while he was greatly found of seeing River smile, that smile in particular made his stomach churn. “Wine?” He offered her the bottle, which she readily accepted and took a sip.

 “I’m sorry, I am a bit far away aren’t I?” He returned her plastic smile with one of his own. “It’s only, I keep thinking that someone at Elion must’ve noticed I’m missing by now. I’m half expecting someone to come down the boardwalk at any moment.”  She took a kaboob from his hand and unwrapped it, plucking a leg from the roasted rodent and sucking on the end. “That’s silly isn’t it? It is. I know. Only… there are a lot of people here and my hair starts to stand on end a bit, and I wonder if…”

 The Doctor leaned over, wrapping his free hand around hers, but she pulled away. “Don’t,” she warned. “I’m just being foolish.” She scolded herself, taking another sip of wine and passing it back to the Doctor. He sipped thoughtfully, counting the number of bites she took before he spoke again. Three.

 “No one here is a member of the Church. There is no sign of intelligence equipment and Kavorian is nowhere around. ” River gave him an appreciative glance before returning her attention to her food, fingers poised over the kaboob to decide what to take next. She wasn’t convinced, he could tell and so he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his sonic. “I checked. But you should to.” 

 Her head shot up then, eyes silently shifting between him and sonic as it trying to decide if it was really alright, if he wouldn’t mind. The Doctor just smiled and held it out to her, watching as she hastily licked the grease from the end of her fingers, drying them on a napkin before taking the sonic in her hand. “See,” he leaned over, positioning her fingers around it. He could feel the heat emanating from her shoulder as she tucked herself closer to him to hear his instructions.  “You just press this button here and move it like that.” She followed his instructions, aiming the gadget into the mass of people wandering back and forth on the boardwalk. When she was done, she flicked her wrist and up popped strings of unintelligible data across the meter monitor. The Doctor went down the list, explaining to her what each symbol meant—Abruvian, Gregorian, Plexy—until he got to the bottom line. “That one is us.”

“We register the same?”

“Biological data reads too similar to differentiate. The temporal energy embedded in your DNA is stronger than the formation of the Double Helix. It reads as Time Lord.”  River sat for a moment, cradling the sonic in her hand and staring at the shared code. 2 Time Lords, it read. Them. Together. Next to her the Doctor busied himself, eating quietly as he watched her from the corner of his eye.

“Thank you.” She said handing the sonic back to him, and the Doctor mused, as he slipped it into his pocket, that somehow she wasn’t just thanking him for the use of the sonic.

They ate in silence after that, passing the wine back and forth between them as they watched the people pass. When River’d finished what was left of her meal, the Doctor scooped the paper and napkins from her lap, and replaced it with his own half eaten kaboob.

 “Are you not going to finish?”

 “Nah, need to watch the figure.” He grinned impishly, the lie rolling easily from his lips. As if this body ever gained weight—or muscle—it didn’t. He’d tried.

“I think you’re just trying to make me fat,” she pulled off a potato and popped it into her mouth. “Tell me Maria’s story.” She said, around a mouth full of potato. “The entire time she was doing my hair no one else stopped by. It was odd considering how good she is.”

 “Good observation,” the Doctor downed the rest of the wine. “Maria’s a refuge from Trenitar. Are you familiar?”

 River chewed thoughtfully, “If I’m not mistaken, the Trenitarians built their empire under the premise of offering humans the opportunity to colonize other planets, but once the humans arrived they were enslaves. Even after abolition, human hybrids factored low in the caste system.”

 “And Maria in particular. She’s descendent of the Duetchanoids that came from the German speaking areas.”

River nodded, “Hence why she was so pleased that I could converse with her in German.”

 “Almost a dead language by now.”  

“It’s a shame too. German’s such a powerful language.” River hummed, taking another bite and the Doctor smirked.

“That’s one way of putting it.”

 “What? Not overly fond?” She looked up at him through her lashes, liking her fingers as she did so.

“I didn’t say that, but you have to admit that German is missing a certain… _je ne sais quoi_.”

She hummed, rolling her eyes. “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.”

The Doctor felt the smile fall from his face, the teasing vanish, as he considered her, his eyes suddenly somber.  “And what is beautiful to you, my River? Power?”

River sat back against the bench for a minute, a warm wind breezing by and catching the end of her curls. It was an intriguing question, apparently, and the Doctor sat interested in her answer. “I…I prefer functionality, which is usually power, yes.” Her eyes trailed to the gown she wore, feeling the fabric role between her fingers. “Don’t misunderstand, Doctor. I think beauty, aesthetic beauty I mean, the frill and glamour is nice too. I can appreciate it. It’s just they are usually superfluous. A luxury.” And River Song had been privileged to very few luxuries in life, he knew. She didn’t have to point it out.  Luxury didn’t make the Silence go away at the end of the day. Luxury would not rescue her from Stormcage.  River punctuated her statement by balling up the paper remnants of their dinner.

“But the universe is filled with beautiful things that aren’t superfluous. A supernova for example. Have you ever seen one? Breathtaking.—Are you ready?” He stood and collected his own waste and dropped it into a nearby bin as they disappeared down an alleyway back toward mainstreet.

“That just supports my theory. Even beauty as it occurs in nature: supernovas, sunsets, mountains, solar systems—everything we deem beautiful is beautiful as a result of power at work. Explosions, erosions, refracting light. Beauty in nature does not occur for beauty’s sake. That’s an artificial construct.” She threaded an arm through his, eyes resuming their customary sweep from side to side as she tucked herself a little tighter into his side.

The Doctor rolled the idea around in his mind, deciding he liked it, “Power begets beauty. A force to be reckoned with.” He mumbled to himself and a smile split the Doctor’s face, not his usual big and energetic grin, but one softer and more subdued, the result of a smoldering pride that had been growing steadily in his chest these past few days. He hadn’t thought it possible, to love—love?—love!—River Song more than he had two months ago. But knowing her now, this young, this determined. She was the most beautiful woman in all the universe, beautiful for what she could do, and beautiful for what she would do, and she had no idea. “River Song, what am I going to do with you?”

Suddenly, River stopped, nearly toppling him over when he took another step and she didn’t move with him. He looked back at her, questioning and found her eyes widened. And for one, brief, panicked moment he feared another episode, another panic attack in the middle of the Methatron street market.

“River?”

 Is that…?” He realized then, that she wasn’t staring into thin air but gazing into a stall over his shoulder. He turned and followed her gaze, eyes narrowing as he scanned the booth what whatever might have caught her eyes. Then his heart stilled. “Yes, I think so.”

There displayed on a shelf with other antiques and collectables, was River Song’s diary. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it is when we stop looking that the we find the things we long for most.   
> XOXO,   
> The Riverwatcher.


	7. The Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River and the Doctor stood hand in hand, staring into the antiquities booth, stunned. It was an impressive collection, really. Long lost works of art and expensive china, silver that dated back to the end of the First Republic and jewelry that carried a hue unique only to Citron, a planet that had combusted six centuries ago. There was furniture, worn and used but antiqued, expensive to those who knew what they were looking at, but River and the Doctor weren’t looking at it. Instead, they were staring at that little blue book sitting at the back of the stall.

** Chapter 6 **

The Alley

“If we open a quarrel between past and present, we shall find that we have no future.”

-Winston Churchill

XXX

           

River and the Doctor stood hand in hand, staring into the antiquities booth, stunned. It was an impressive collection, really. Long lost works of art and expensive china, silver that dated back to the end of the First Republic and jewelry that carried a hue unique only to Citron, a planet that had combusted six centuries ago.  There was furniture, worn and used but antiqued, expensive to those who knew what they were looking at, but River and the Doctor weren’t looking at it. Instead, they were staring at that little blue book sitting at the back of the stall.

There were a few customers skirting around the edge of the booth. To their right, a regal Abruvian woman dressed furs and pearls lifted her hand in the air, squinting as she gazed at a large ring situated on a long blue-grey finger. She cut her eyes to the vendor standing on the other side of the table, hunched over a tray of jewelry with a loupe nestled into his eye as he clicked his tongue and selected another ring. To the left, an elderly couple—possibly human—bent over a gilded chair as another retailer explained something about the stitching on the armrest. A few idle shoppers strolled by, eyes running the length of the tables before wandering off.

The merchant, a Trixon, slender and gray with long arms and a quick tale slithering above his head, was standing quietly at the back of the stall with his arms crossed tightly about his chest, surveying the scene around him. He was wearing a three piece suit complete with boutonniere and a perpetually puckered expression on his face. The Doctor met his gaze from across the stall and a thin grey brow curved skyward.  “Just follow my lead,” he muttered to River, cupping her elbow and escorting her to the front of the booth.

 “May I help you, sir?” The merchant asked, his head held high, nose pointed into the air above the Doctor and River’s heads as he spoke.

 “Ah yes,” the Doctor took a moment, letting his eye run the perimeter of the tables as if making up his mind. When he was done, he flicked his attention back to the attendant. “My wife and I are here visiting on our honeymoon”—well, it was partly true at any rate—he wrapped his arm around River’s waist and pulled her closer. “And I want to indulge her. Though, I’m not really sure you have what it is I am looking for.”

 “But sir, we have anything you could possibly be looking for. Marcel’s is the finest vendor in all of Methatron. Please, tell me what it is you are looking for and I will find it for you.” The merchant stretched his lips, an attempted smile, no doubt. He’d bargained with humans before, but it was not a gesture that came natural to his species, that was plain enough to tell.

“I wanted to get her something unique. Something one of a kind.” He dropped his head to her catching her gaze as she looked up at him. Playing a honeymooning couple, now that was easy. He tapped her under the chin. “I want her to have something that no other woman in the galaxy has.” She smiled at him and for a moment the Doctor almost forgot their mission.

“Oh, well then you have come to the right place. Everything you see before you is unique, quite unique. Take this candelabra, for instance.” The Trixon’s tail snaked out and caught a mixed silver and gold candelabra from the back table, holding it over their heads where he promptly dropped it into his waiting hands. “This belonged to King Filch of Zytron VI. His castle was looted and plundered one thousand years ago; most of his treasure was carried off and never heard from again. But this candelabra. It is still here.”  The merchant lifted the artifact up to them, offering it for inspection.

River, ever the archaeologist, hastily wrapped the long sleeves of her new dress around her palms before accepting the relic, holding it up and watching it shimmer in the light. “How do I know that this really came from Filch’s castle and that it’s not just a quaint story you’re telling me to get me to pay a couple of thousand extra Hubles.” She asked, and the creature’s brows shot up, eyes darting to the Doctor.

 “My you have a spry one here, sir. The lady is clever.”

 “Very.”

He turned back to River. “The stamp on the bottom marks the candelabra as coming from the King’s treasury and, of course, all of our artifacts come with a certificate of authenticity.”  Again, the grey face attempted to smile. The Doctor wished he wouldn’t do that. It was eerie really, and sent a shiver running down his spine.

 River gave the piece back. “Thank you, no. I think I am more interested in something less… ornate.”  It was her turn to make the show as she scanned the table. And then, she lit up. Not just her face but her entire body as she pressed herself further into the Doctor’s side and pointed at her diary. “Oh look darling he has a book.”

 The Doctor grinned, she was entirely too good at this.  “Ah yes he does.” And then by way of an explanation “my wife loves old books. The older the better. You should see some of the things she brings home for our library.” He chuckled and he felt her pinch his shoulder which made him chuckle more.

“Oh,” the grey merchant hummed, as if pleased with her selection, “and this is not just any book. This is the _Lost Book of Fantasia_.” He retrieved the worn book with his tail and slid it into River’s hands, her fingers curling around familiar edges. Thumbs swiped across the cover, pressing into the rises before she cracked the spine. It crackled with disuse, pages brown and the edges of the binding were cracked with mud. “Twelve Million Hubles.” The creature exclaimed proudly. The Doctor choked.

River looked up with disinterested eyes. “Twelve Million? What on earth is in it that makes it worth that much?” She dropped her attention back down to the entries as she flipped the pages.

“Oh my, but madam. For a _livre_ expert as yourself, you must have heard about the _Lost Book of Fantasia_.” He paused, waiting for her agreement.

River continued to flip pages, glancing up when he didn’t answer. “I’m listening.” The Doctor stifled a grin.

“It was buried for centuries, millennia before an expedition discovered it at the bottom of the Fantasian forest in 1237. But nobody knows how it got there.”

“Well somebody must have taken it there, obviously.”

“Yes, but when? The Book was both too old and too new. It was far too advanced for Fantasian civilization given its material and content, but It was at least 3 thousand years older than any artifact surrounding it and it was written in a language that didn’t exist until at least five hundred years after the mudslide that buried it. No one has ever been able to date it or determine its point of origin. It is the great mystery of Fantasia.”

River sighed, feigned disinterest growing by the minute. But the Doctor hadn’t failed to notice that she’d thumbed through the entire book, touching every page including the ones without words. “If it is what you say it is—“

“Oh it is, I assure you, Madam.”

“Yes well, if all you say is true then why is it here?  At a street market and not tucked away in a stuffy old museum somewhere?”

The merchant’s eyes widened at that and the Doctor struggled to suppress a laugh. “We come by all our artifacts by honorable means, Madam!” He exclaimed.

River’s brows raised, “I don’t believe I had suggested otherwise.” Just like that the tail swooped around and snatched the diary out of River’s hands, setting it off to a table to the side.

“Oh wait just a moment,” The Doctor started, reaching for the book.

“I apologize, sir, but here at Marcel’s we offer the finest quality in antiques. If your wife cannot appreciate the relic which I have placed in her hands I cannot sell it to you.” The vendor’s nose pointed further into the air as he spoke and the Doctor flushed red. His mouth dropped open in preparation to speak but River pressed a hand into his shoulder.

“Sweetie, really. It’s not worth twelve million Hubles.” She turned into him so that her back was partway to the Trixon and gave him a quick wink, brushing a hand down the front of his tweed. “Stay here and haggle all you want, love, but don’t spend too much, hm?” She pressed her lips against his cheek, squeezing his shoulder even tighter before turning and offering a friendly smile to the vendor as she skirted around the table. The Doctor watched her for a moment as she circled the table with her hands clasped before her like a casual shopper.

“Sir? Sir!” The Vendor bent to the side so that he entered the Doctor’s field of vision, blocking his view of River.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You were saying?”

“I said here at Marcel’s we offer the rarest of antiques at the most reasonable of prices. We do not lower ourselves to haggling. If you wish not to buy it, someone else will.”

The Doctor nodded once, shifting on his feet so that he could see River once more.  Every so often she’d reach out and grace fingers over a painting or stir the crystals hanging from the end of a chandelier. She skirted around the Abruvian woman who, having selected a suitable ring, was now bent before a mirror, examining a pair of rather large earrings that hung nearly down to her shoulders. River picked up a teapot on the other side, eyes moving down the table toward the back of the stall before darting back to the Doctor. She smiled, one table over was her diary and each step brought her closer to it. Diversion. Got it. The Doctor turned back to the Merchant, forcing interest in the things littering the table before him.  “Alright then, show me what else you might have.”

“Well, if she is interested in books. We have a few more in our stock.” The vendor went to turn away from the Doctor, toward River who had just lifted her diary from the table once more and stood casually flipping through the pictures, lifting her head every so often to glance around her.

“No!” The Doctor cried, albeit a little too loudly, lunging for the merchant and grabbing him by the lapels. River sent him a harsh look from the other side of the booth. And the Doctor swallowed nervously. The merchant just blinked at him.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I uh… I… she really had too many books as it is. Honestly not enough shelves, you can imagine. Why not tell me about…” he scanned the items laid on the table in front of him, and pointed to a random object: a photo album. Harmless enough.

“Ah, yes.” The merchant bent to examine the album, leaving the Doctor a clear view as River casually knocked a golden hairbrush off the table and knelt, diary still in hand, to retrieve it. “This is a rare specimen.” The merchant straightened, standing so that the Doctor’s view was compromised once more. Suddenly, he found himself staring at a photograph of a naked woman, a curvy figure sprawled across a settee, legs splayed and arms resting behind her head to emphasize perfect round breasts.

“Gah!” An unintelligible sound rumbled from the Doctor’s throat and he recoiled, flailing backwards. His cheeks burned bright red, and his eyes darted from the photo to the merchant, to where River should be standing and back again.

The merchant flipped the photograph around, glancing at it with indifference. “Twentieth century human erotica.” He said flatly. “It’s a pity humans were such dumb creatures. They were rather beautiful.” The Doctor swallowed, snaking a finger under his collar and pulling on his bowtie. Behind the merchant, he saw River stand up shoot him a look and wander away from the booth, no diary to be seen.

“Ah well, I suppose that’s true. At any rate, I think I’ll pass on the album, but I’ll keep you in mind for all of my erotica purchasing needs,” He gave another nervous little laugh as he backed away from the table.

His heart was pounding, by the time he caught up to River, following her mass of curls over the crowd until he got close enough to her to snake an arm through hers. “Got an eyeful did you darling?” She said, not bothering to look at him. He glanced down and noticed that she’d wrapped the sleeve of her gown up and was walking with it clutched to her chest. He grumbled.

“Oi, how was I supposed to know what it was? I was just trying to keep him away from you.”

“Next time try not to choose an album marked with three red X’s. At any rate, it was mission accomplished. You certainly attracted much more attention than me.”

“We’ll see about that.” The Doctor glanced over his shoulder eyeing the booth they’d just left as the grey creature stood in the middle of the stall looking left and right and then… his eyes lifted, staring directly at the Doctor. The Doctor squeezed River’s arm just as he saw the Trixon’s arms raise and point straight at them.

 “Stop! Thief!”

The Doctor and River took off through the market place, pushing people back and forth and skirting around booths on their effort to get back to the TARDIS.

“Which alley did we leave her on?” River called to him over the heads of three people, they could hear the clamber of their pursuers not far behind.

“The Last one!” The Doctor called back. “No, wait… the first one! I don’t know! Try that one!” He pointed to an alley off to the right, and they split, running along either side of a booth. River snatched a cloak off a table as she passed.

They darted down an alleyway until the came to the very end. No TARDIS. No exit. And the Doctor turned back to her, chest heaving as the sound of running footsteps grew closer. River ran straight into him, shoving him into the corner of the alley and pushing him down the wall as she stripped his bowtie from his neck. She slung the cloak around her shoulders ensuring that it fell around the Doctor as he crouched at her feet, crushed between her and the wall. Somehow she made her body nearly a foot shorter. She bunched the tails of her green robe up around her knees and flipped the hood over her curls and hunched her shoulders just as three coppers came bursting down the alleyway.

“And what seems to be the hurry,” A frail squawk filled the air and the Doctor, who had a secure arm wrapped around her knees inside the cloak, pressed her forehead against the side of her thigh and he struggled to hold his breath.

“You see anyone come by this way, old woman?” One of the coppers called, inching his way slowly down the alley.

“Can’t say as I have.” River added a slight tremor to her frame and the Doctor could hear the footsteps come closer.

“You sure you haven’t seen anyone come by? A man and woman maybe?”

“No, nope, and I’ve been here all day.” River gave a slight nod to the dumpster in the far corner of the alley. “Looking for a bit of food. Haven’t got anything on ye, do you?”

“You sure?” There could be a hot meal in it for you if you help us find them.” The copper reached out for River but she jerked back, flashing a dirtied and scared fist wrapped in the Doctor’s bowtie, and pulled the hood further down over her face.

“I wouldn’t touch if I were you sir. Them lepers. They got to me.” The copper took three steps back, staring at her up and down before doffing his hat.

“Well, if you say so. We’ll be on our way. They’re not here!” He called to his colleagues, turning and disappearing back down the alley.  Once he was gone, and they were certain no one was coming back, River collapsed next to the Doctor, untying the cloak from her shoulders and pulling it off his head as he gasped for fresh air. A mischievous grin stretching across her face when their eyes met.

“That was bloody brilliant!” He grinned at her and her body sagged under a fit of giggles.

“Oh I haven’t done that in so long! It feels amazing.” Her chest heaved as though it were the first time she’d breathed in months. His arm wrapped around her and he could feel her heart pounding out of the back of her chest as adrenaline raced through her body.

She slowly unwrapped her sleeve, letting the blue binding show through the opening of her sleeve and staring down at it happily.

“You played a dangerous game with that.” The Doctor reached over and tapped the hard cover. River rolled her eyes.

“They wanted twelve million Hubles!”

“Which I could have easily gotten my hands on.”

“Oh but where is the fun in that.” She looked up at him, eyebrow raised and cheeks still flushed with pleasure and looking incredibly like herself. _Hello, River_ the Doctor thought _I’ve missed you._ “Besides. We’re not paying twelve million Hubles for something that is mine to begin with.”

The Doctor pulled himself to his feet before turning for her and offering her a hand which she readily accepted. She slipped her hand—still wrapped in his bowtie—into his and let him pull her to her feet. She didn’t let go. Even when he’d turned to head out of the little alleyway, she held him back, feet still firmly rooted in place as she stared down at their hands.

“Do you feel that?” She asked, her breath hitching a little. The Doctor’s mouth went dry. He did, though barely. He could feel the warmth emanating from their clasped hands. No, from the strip of fabric caught between the clasped hands, a warmth and was growing by the second, sending tingling sensations up his arm. Then suddenly and sharp jolt snapped through his arm and the contact was lost as River tumbled into the wall behind her, eyes screwed tight as she slid down the brick surface.

 “River?” He dove for her, catching her by the shoulders and slowing her fall.

 “Don’t!” She gasped at him, eye still shut and body shaking. Her hands pressed against his chest, pushing him away. “Don’t touch me, please don’t.” It sounded as though she couldn’t breathe, the way she was gasping for air. The Doctor’s hands went limp, not letting her go as much as he let her push herself out of his grasp. And then with a shaking breath and a hand pressed tightly to her chest, River’s eyes blinked open. Her eyes were changed somehow, the Doctor couldn’t explain. Older. Darker. Deeper. It was an unnerving transformation, seeing someone age so much in mere seconds.

 “You remember.” He said more statement of fact than question.

River struggled to pull herself to her feet. “I think I need to go back to that TARDIS,” she gasped, nearly knocking the Doctor over in her effort to push past him. And before the Doctor collected his thoughts, she was running down the alleyway, robe trailing behind her and arms wrapped around herself as she disappeared back onto the mainstreet.

XXX

They had left the TARDIS on the third alley after the blue tent. It had taken the Doctor far too long than it should have for him to located it, and even as he approached the familiar blue box, a dread throbbed in the center of his chest at the possibility of her not being there. He thought of all the promises he’d made her since he’d found her in Elion. Promises of safety. Promises that the Silence would not find her and that Kavorian was nowhere to be found.  He’d promised that he’d protect her. But as he moved closer to the door, he realized how futile it all was.

 His promises were meaningless.

He pressed a hand against the side of the TARDIS, slivers of blue wood catching on his skin as he pushed against the door, and relief washed through his veins when it gave easily beneath his touch—she hadn’t even bothered to latch the door—and he slipped inside.

She was standing at the console, head bowed and curls falling like a curtain over her features as she ran the silken bowtie through her fingers.  “River?” he called softly to her, afraid that if he lifted his voice any higher she’d shatter.

“We married, didn’t we?” He didn’t have to see her face to know a tear was trekking down her cheek. And the Doctor felt his own throat thicken. He had to admit this wasn’t what he’d expected by way of reaction. He’d hoped for more excitement when his wife recalled their nuptials.

“Yes.”

She jerked into motion, pressing a button to her right before retreating to the other side of the console, refusing to look at him. “You weren’t going to tell me.” She stated, her voice flat, numb. “You were going to go on letting me think…”

“It was spoilers—“

“Damn the Spoilers!” She cried, her voice echoing through the TARDIS as her head snapped up at him. “Just this once, ignore the rules. You can do that, you created them to begin with.”

The Doctor forced his feet to move, a calm and steady pace across the floor despite the syncopated pumping of his hearts. “What good is remembering if you can’t remember for yourself?” He could feel the distinct outline of her diary under his jacket, still dusty from where she’d dropped it in the alleyway.

Her attention shifted under the scrutiny of his question and she fiddled with the levers on the console, cheeks burning red. Embarrassment? Anger? Shame? For a brief second the Doctor’s footsteps faltered as he struggled to identify the emotion. “It’s good for knowing _something_.” She sighed “Even if I didn’t know the details, couldn’t recall the specifics I had a right to know, Doctor.”

Her eyes lifted to him again and she studied his face in the dimmed light, eyes intently scanning his features. And he knew she was disappointed by what she saw because he didn’t understand, not at all. It wasn’t logical. Life was meant to be experienced. Events were meant to be lived, not known. That wasn’t the point. “And here I thought you were just being nice. Remarkable Doctor who befriends the lost and forgotten, the psychopaths who attempt his assassination.” She gave a bitter laugh then and the Doctor, who was finally within reach of her reached out and pressed a hand to the small of her back to brace her. She jerked under his touch.

“Don’t, please don’t.” She begged, voice trembling as she moved away, leaning on the console as she did so. He could still see the bowtie clutched tightly in her hand. “This is ridic…” She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead and took a labored breath. “Why am I here? Why did you come looking for me?” 

The Doctor stammered. He couldn’t rightly tell her that he hadn’t considered it until he came across and older version of herself that terrified him with her sad eyes and cryptic prophesy. “I… I needed to know that you were alright. That you were safe and… and that you knew you weren’t alone.”

“And to ease your own conscience.” She added quietly, but confidently as she slipped around the console, hitting at odd buttons as she did so. The Doctor watched her go, feeling the weight of all the time that separated their timelines, all those years, all those minutes, weighing the silence between them.  “Whatever obligation you feel toward me, Doctor, it’s not necessary. Regardless of what might have happened on top of that pyramid I’m not your responsibility.”

The Doctor bristled “Obligation? Of course I have an obligation to you, River. You are my wife—“

“If I were really your wife, I’d think you’d be a bit more eager to let me in on the secret.” She snapped back, and if  he had been paying attention, he’d have notice that the woman before him moved increasingly like his River, tall and lithe with confident of movement and a tightness to her jaw that she’d seemed to only just found. But he didn’t notice, nor was he listening, having instead turned from her, hands threading through his hair in frustration as he mumbled to himself.

“—And it was my fault. All my fault. The aborted timeline, Elion, your memory, the gaps in your timeline. If I had just told you what I was planning. If I had just realized that you’re not like the others. You can’t follow instructions. If you’d only do as you were told!” his voice boomed throughout the TARDIS, echoing through the corridors. His frustration made a strange contrast to River who considered him patiently and spoke in a soft tone when the echo settled.

“Is that what this is, then? You babysitting me to ease a guilty conscious. To make amends? Who are you apologizing to? Me? My Parents? Yourself? You give yourself far too much credit.”

The Doctor ran his hands over his face, fingers pressing into tired eyes. “You almost destroyed the universe, River. All those creatures, all those planets, _lives_ , River, in my name. But I never asked you to. I never wanted you to save me.”

 “Well somebody had to.” She sighed, watching him from around the time rotator. “It’s not as though you were fighting for yourself. You spend your life paying penance when penance has already been paid.” She blinked back a tear, angrily throwing a lever. “And even now you fail to see it.”

“See what?”

“What you mean to people. The hope you bring.”  The Doctor opened his mouth and shut it again when he found no words came out. He slumped against the console, pulling the warn blue book out of his jacket and laying it on the console. They’d found it, the two of them, and somehow he had thought that that was going to magically make everything ok, and he stared at it now as if he still hoped it would. She did too, he knew without ever looking up. A thick silence settled between them as the TARDIS shuddered and lurched under their feet. What a fool he was.

“You said that I embarrassed you.” River sighed, defeated. And the Doctor glanced up to her, feeling an odd sort of pressure behind his eyes, and when River looked at him from around the time rotator, he felt them begin to sting. “You said that you didn’t want to marry me, yet you did anyway. Why? To placate me? To give me just a little something to remember you by after I helped you reset the universe and you went off flouncing off into the galaxy. Not that it isn’t a wise move. You’re in far over your head with me, Doctor. I’ve killed you twice now. The third time might just stick. If I were you I’d get as far away as possible.” She tugged on the last lever, leaning on the blue stabilizer with her weight. The TARDIS shuddered to a halt.

“River, it’s not like that.”

“Oh yea?” she mover around the console so that she stood directly before him, raised on her tiptoes so that she could see him in the eye. “Tell me Doctor. How many times have you married a woman just to skip town the next day?” His mouth opened and snapped shut and he swallowed, eyes nervously darting around over her head.

“Honestly River, give me a little more credit than that.”

“Really? Shall I ask Queen Elizabeth about it the next time I see her?”

Honestly, he’d forgotten what she could be like young, especially when she was at herself. “My, _god,_ when you remember something you really… _remember,_ don’t you?”

Her jaw set as she brushed passed him, on her way out of the room.

 “Rule 7” he called rushing to follow. “Never runaway when you’re afraid.” Well _that_ made her stop.

She turned to him, arms crossed over her chest, weight pressing on one leg. “And what exactly am I afraid of?”

He shrugged, slowing his pace “Nothing. Everything. Until about a week ago you were locked away at the bottom of a starliner completely abandoned. No friends, no family, no memory. Sounds pretty scary to me.”  She rolled her eyes and made to turn away, resume her trek down the corridor, but he caught her arm, pulling her back to him and lowering his voice into her ear. “Are you ever afraid it’s an illusion?

“What?”  
            He waved a hand between them. “This. Us. Everthing. Area 52, the wedding, the past week and a half. Aren’t you terrified it’s just another lie? Because I am. I’m terrified that this is a dream, some splendid dream and that I’ll wake up from soon and have to face the real world alone. ”

He was right, he knew. He saw it in the way her mouth trembled before she bit the inside of her cheek. Heard it in the way she cleared her throat. “Isn’t that what you’re doing, though? Waking me from my dream? I feel so _safe_ when I am with you, so _me._ But you’re just like the shadows, aren’t you? Expecting me to follow you around and obey your commands without explanation. But I refuse. Melody Pond lived a life haunted by secrets, void of free will, but I will not be her any longer. I choose to be River and she’ll do nothing against her will.” Her voice ended in a tremor that sent a shock through his body. The Doctor caught her face in his hands, fingers threading in her hair refusing to let her turn away, to hide herself.  “I’ll be fine.” She said, holding his gaze willfully and she just seemed to glow. “River Song is _always_ fine.” And dropped her voice to a whisper, watching him through uncertain eyes, she added. “I don’t need you.”

The Doctor winced inwardly as remembered the things he’d said to her, how he’d scoffed at her distress beacon, her _magnificent_ distress beacon. He’d mocked her, and ordered her about, and never really gave her a choice as to whether or not she was to marry him, did he? He hadn’t even told her that was what they were doing until it was nearly all done. How could he not have regretted their wedding? He’d spent hours, praying that he’d find a River that would sooth the guilt away, tell him that she would have married him a hundred times over, regardless how he asked. Instead, he found a River mentally and physically broken, caged, not just by the Silence, but by him. By his need to control, to manipulate. No wonder River Song didn’t believe him. 

 “Of course you don’t.” He whispered to her, thumbs smoothing over her cheeks. She was amazing after all. He’d really had no idea. “That’s the point of this, of _us_. We choose it, River. Over and over, you and I. It’s a choice we both make. You are not bound to it, not obligated to me, nor am I you. We can quite whenever we like. There is always a choice. You don’t embarrass me, River you humble me. You tell me when I’m far too big and remind me that I’m not too small and you are only creature in the entire galaxy brave enough to do it. You don’t follow me through time, your always there standing right next to me. Hell, sometimes you beat me to where I’m going.” He pressed his forehead into hers and felt her hands, tentative and unsure, curl around the back of his arms. “But only if you choose it. Only ever if it’s what you want.” His voice trailed off and his held his breath, chest burning in anticipation of her answer. This close he could feel the warm puffs of air brush across his cheek as she exhaled, could feel the tickle of her course curls as the grazed his forehead. He could feel each finger through the fabric of his tweed as she clutched his arm. But the moment was there and then it was gone and no matter how hard he tried the Doctor couldn’t bring it back.

“I don’t know what I want.” Her voice cracked softly, and the Doctor’s eyes fluttered open. Surely he hadn’t heard her correctly, but her hands slid down his arms and up to his hands, pulling them from his cheeks as she ducked from his embrace. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

And just like that her warmth, the solidness of her in his arms, was gone and he watched as she turned and faded into the depths of the TARDIS.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, I would be thrilled to hear from you.   
> XOXO,   
> The Riverwatcher


	8. Behind the Curtain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He imagined that he could see her. River, his River. The one from four months ago who stood shivering in the cold and begged him to rescue her. The one person who deserved his all and he’d let her down. How could he? After everything she’d sacrificed for him. He lifted the diary off the dash, weighing it in his hand before he opened the cover. 
> 
> He wasn’t going to read it.

** Chapter 7 **

Behind the Curtain

“Forgiveness is the remission of sins. For it is by this that what has been lost, and was found, is saved from being lost again.” – Saint Augustine

XXX

_“Funny thing is, this means you’ve always known how I was going to die.”_

No.

_“All the time we’ve been together, you knew I was coming here.”_

Don’t. Please.

_“_ _The last time I saw you, the real you — the future you, I mean — you turned up on my doorstep, with a new haircut and a suit.”_

Not here, not like this.

_“You took me to Darillium to see the Singing Towers.”_

The metal handcuff bit into his wrist. He could taste blood. His muscles ached from the strain of reaching. Their sonics were right _there._

_“Hush now.”_

And then they weren’t there. They had faded. They had vanished, consumed in a bright light, a blinding light. The same light that…

  _“Hush now, Sweetie.”_

There were flowers. Daisies. And books. And a blanket lay in the grass and the sun that shined down from above was warm and gold. Her hair was frizzed and her smile wide. A bit of chocolate smudged at the corner of her mouth.  So this was Asgard.

_“Hush now, Sweetie.”_

The giant statues looked like caricatures of him. She’d pointed it out with a crooked smile the moment they came into view. He pouted. She laughed and kissed his chin.

_“Hush now, Sweetie.”_

Soft fingers tucked the tweed in around his shoulders, smoothing the edges down and the Doctor struggled to open his eyes, to blink and clear the fogginess from his mind. He could smell her perfume, that scent he’d bought her on Minerva. He could hear her breathing over him, could feel the soft puffs against his cheek.

_“Giving up on me so easily then, are you?”_ She hummed and he felt the cushion depress next to him. His head, thrown back against the seat, lulled in her direction.

“Mmm, not giving up. Letting go.” He mumbled and soft fingers brushed over his temple. His eyes were so heavy.

_“Letting me go to do what? Run away?”_

“Not run…you don’t run… I run… You’re brave.” He heard her soft chuckle and his lips tightened into a groggy smile, pleased with himself. 

_“I’m not near as brave as you think, my love.”_ She shifted toward him and the Doctor felt the silkiness of the blouse she wore brush over his face. A pair of soft lips pressed to his cheek. Oh and she smelled divine. _“Don’t let me run too far. Otherwise, I don’t think I’ll ever stop. We both know how I am this young.”_  Yes, yes he did know and he opened his mouth to tell her so but words failed him. He sighed, contented, and barely noticed when the warmth on his cheek faded to coolness.

A soft bang rattled from the other side of the room and the Doctor’s eyes snapped open, feet sliding from their precarious perch on the edge of the console. His arms were folded over his chest, his jacket tucked warmly around his shoulders. The Doctor blinked, muscled laden with sleep. “River?”

Silence.

He called for her again, and this time the TARDIS answered, humming a low vibration through the darkly lit room. The Doctor let out a discontented grunt. It had been so real, his dream, almost like she was actually there. He longed for her to be there. Pressing a hand to his head, he staggered to his feet.

 He absently flipped on the monitor, taking note of where they were—suspended somewhere in the Exon Galaxy—and stood staring blankly at it, trying to decide where to go next, if anywhere at all. Around him the TARDIS groaned and he absentmindedly dropped a hand to the console, running long strokes along the dash. He could feel the transfer of energy, small vibrations that ran up his arm and eased the tension in his shoulders, clearing the fog from his mind. His fingers collided with something solid and blue. He glanced down to find her diary.  

It all came flooding back, then, like a flash of blinding light.  Methatron and the Trixon merchant, running down the alleyway. River’s disappointed stare from around the time rotor, her face streaked with angry tears.  The way her green robe slide across the glass floor as she disappeared down the corridor.

He imagined that he could see her. River, _his_ River. The one from four months ago who stood shivering in the cold and begged him to rescue her. The one person who deserved his all and he’d let her down. How could he? After everything she’d sacrificed for him.  He lifted the diary off the dash, weighing it in his hand before he opened the cover.  

He wasn’t going to read it. He just wanted to —fingers flipped through the pages, counting silently to himself with each turn.  Forty- two. There were forty-two entries in her diary. In _their_ diary. And he knew he was present in only a precious few. All those stories. All those adventures. Never to be recorded. Never to be lived. Forty two pages in a diary that was endless.

I am so sorry, River, he thought, leaning his weight against the console. His body was heavy now, far heavier than he remembered it being. And the edges of his mind, usually sharp and spry, were dull. What would they do now?

The monitor flashed over his head, bright enough to catch his attention. He glanced up, pulling the screen down to eye level. It was blank. He flicked at the toggle on the side and nothing happened. Eyes narrowing, he tried it again with similar results. He couldn’t imagine he’d blown it out. The last time that happened was when he’d overloaded the TARDIS circuit system trying to signal into a pocket universe. Hadn’t done that in a bit. Learned his lesson.

The Doctor leaned around the monitor, pressing a few buttons and reading the statistics that ran from a strip of output paper from the center of the dash. He tore the paper off the feed and raised it before him, catching his reflection in the dead screen as he did so. He froze. Leaning forward and pressing two fingers against his cheek as he turned his face ever so slightly he watched his reflection mimic his movements. Slowly, his fingers moved across his cheek, pressing lightly against the skin before examining them.  Lipstick.

A burst of laughter bubbled forward. It was lipstick.

“Interface,” He commanded, hearts quickening as he twirled around the console, flipping levers and adjusting dials with an elaborate flourish.  Across the room, an image flickered to life. It was River, standing stock still and considering him with a blank gaze. She was wearing her green dress, the one she had on when he’d first discovered who she was. He smiled. He loved that dress.  “Give me the life statistics of River Song.”

 The River hologram opened her mouth, eyes fixed unnervingly on a point just over his shoulder. “River Song is aboard the ship. Her breathing is elevated and pulse is high.”

 The Doctor dropped his gaze to the console, watching his fingers dance around the keys. “How high?”

 “300”

“Respiratory?”

 “120 per minute”         

His hands froze, fingers pausing over the old typewriter as his eyes squeezed shut. All her stats pointed to a panic attack. The Doctor swallowed. He needed to find her, quickly. “Where is she?”

 “River Song has found herself.”

 What the hell did that mean? He grunted and swept around the console. Behind him the interface continued to stare into thin air. “Come on Old Girl. Let me know where she is, yea? Just this once. She needs us.” He returned to the monitor and flicked it on, running diagnostic scans through each room. Each scan offered no results.

 “River Song has found herself.” The hologram reiterated and the Doctor threw an annoyed look over his shoulder, typing in another search. Nothing. “River Song has found herself.” The Doctor smacked the side of the monitor hard enough that the hinge drew blood. “Do not strike the monitor. River Song is at an undisclosed location.”  
            “Useless, useless!” He cried, pushing away from the console and jogging up the steps to the top hallway. “I have no idea why I keep you around!”

 “River Song has found herself.”

He disappeared into the hallway, opening and closing doors at random. Panic welled up inside of him at the thought of her alone and frightened when he was so close. That was supposed to be over now. She wasn’t supposed to have those days anymore. He’d promised.

  Around him, the TARDIS buzzed angrily, especially when he slipped into the library. “River Song has found herself.” The persistent interface flickered in the far corner of the room, hissing with static.

 And the panic burst inside of him. “I don’t know what that means!” he yelled back at River’s form “I never know what that means. Just this once, tell me what you want me to do. No spoilers, no riddle solving. We make mistakes like that!” He reached down for the nearest object, a cushion from the settee, and hurled it at her. River’s image blinked and faded.

 The TARDIS gave an annoyed harrumph, and in the blink of an eye the Doctor was transported out of the library and found himself standing in the center of a hallway. He blinked. To his left was a dead-end, to his right stood River’s image. Straight ahead of him was a blank wall. “River Song has found herself.”

Oh, _oh_ , he thought, sweeping the invisible curtain aside and ducking in through the splintered door. She’d found herself.

 He found her at the end of the gallery, curled onto a bench with her back pressed against the wall and arms wrapped around her knees. Her head was bowed, forehead pressed to her kneecaps and her sides and rose and fell as a steady pace. She looked up when he drew nearer, watching him with a blank stare that was not too unlike that of the hologram. Her eyes were red and puffy and her breath rattled in her chest.  And the Doctor shoved uncertain hands in his pocket, eyes shifting under her stiff gaze, feeling as if he was supposed to say something. His mind stalled for the second time that day, and River eventually let out a dejected sigh, falling back against the wall.

 “I thought it was odd that there weren’t any pictures of me in here.” She said, nodding to a point over his shoulder, he followed her gaze. Just as he thought, the heavy velvet curtain that had previously hidden a nearly a third of the wall had been pulled back, secured with a sash on either side, revealing hundreds of portraits. River.  Her was face drawn in countless angles and in countless mediums. Oil, watercolor, graphite pencil. There was River with hair curling and blown in front of her eyes standing in the back garden at her parent’s wedding. River coming out of Luna, books in arm after giving her first lecture. That time he’d stumbled across her expedition on Melton.

There were paintings full of wonder and intrigue when he didn’t know who she was and love when he did, and there were painful ones as well. An etching of River, leaning against the bars of her cell after their first kiss. Try as he might, he couldn’t forget her face, and so he’d drawn it, filling the lines with that unsettling feeling that he’d somehow disappointed her.

And in the center, in vibrant oil was the most magnificent one of all. River, peering at him from behind an astronaut’s visor, the first time he’d ever seen her face. He knew its imprint by heart, full of fear and guilt, regret and confusion. He’d read it many times in the beginning to remind himself why he shouldn’t pursue her, but it never worked. He couldn’t stay away. Every time he saw her he wanted to know her just a little more. 

The Doctor let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, sinking onto the bench next to her. He wasn’t ready for this.

 “You said it was the place you hid your nightmares, the things that haunted your dreams.” Her voice hung heavy in the air, and from the corner of his eye, the Doctor saw her turn toward him. “Is that what I am to you, Doctor? A nightmare?”

  Time twirled and slowed around them, coming to a near halt. The grating distracted him, and he allowed it, preferring to count the seconds as they scrapped by instead of answer her question. Eventually River sighed and her body sagged with further disappointment as she returned her eyes to the paintings. She didn’t asked when they were from, and he was grateful because he didn’t think he had another “spoiler” left in him tonight.

 “You’re not a nightmare.” He finally whispered, his voice gruff. He dropped his eyes to her, only then noticing the bowtie clutched in her lap. He watched as her fingers moved restlessly around the fabric, wrapping and unwrapping it from around her hand. “But I do dream of you. Have done for a long time now. But…” he turned back to the paintings. He’d never really needed the imprints. He remembered every second they’d been together as if they’d just happened, every adventure, every fight, every makeup. The imprints weren’t for now. They never were. They were for later, when she was gone and he was alone once more. He sighed “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, River.”

 She snorted beside him. “You got that from Harry Potter.”

  “Oi! And where to you think Rowling got it from? She didn’t just make Erised up, you know. It’s hanging in a gallery on Tropet 7.” He declared.

  Beside him, River rolled her eyes. “And I suppose you took her on a whirlwind tour of the Universe just to introduce her.”

 The Doctor shrugged, “She had a bit of writer’s block and I wanted to know how the story began.” Then he nudged her with his shoulder. “Point still stands. Our lives are out of order, River. Your firsts are my lasts and vice versa. I don’t want to spend all our time remembering what was and missing what is.”

 Her lips thinned into a narrow line, eyes wide, chin shaking just slightly. “It’s just a bowtie,” she croaked head dropping on her shoulders.  And the Doctor’s brow furrowed when he noticed the bowtie wrapped so tightly around her hand that her fingers blanched under the pressure. “I’ve been here for hours trying to remember more. I thought maybe…I could…” She sniffed, “I could remember it like I was there but…It’s just a bowtie.”

He licked his lips as he gingerly pulled her hand into his lap, watching her from the corner of his eye as he gently unwrapped the bowtie. Relieved of the pressure on her arteries her skin pinked again. Her fingers went slack and the fabric slid easily from them. He took the moment to linger, smoothing his fingers down the back of her hand, feeling the tendons and veins that rippled under her skin. The scars were nearly healed now.

She sniffed harshly, batting at her face with her free hand and turning her head further away from him. “I wantedI don’t know what I want.” She shook her head, defeated and unfurled her knees.

The Doctor let her go, returning his attention to the strip of silk draped over his lap and counting her footsteps until she was nearly out of earshot. “It’s just a bowtie when you hold it,” he called to her, lifting the bowtie over his head and examining the fabric in the light. His eyes flicked to her, noting with a hint of satisfaction that she had stopped and turned back to him. “It’s just a bowtie when I hold it. I’ve been wearing it for months and I had no idea.” He draped the fabric around his neck, flipping his collar up so that it lay flat across his shoulders.  

"No idea about what?" She watched him flip his collar back down, both ends of the tie hanging freely down his chest.

 

 “It’s not just any bowtie. This was the one I was wearing in Area 52. It was the bowtie that married us.” He smiled, standing and tugging on the end as he closed the distance between them. He could feel the familiar slide of the fabric across the back of his neck, slithering over his shirt, the end swinging free to the floor. “Just think. All that energy swirling around, the universe unraveling about our ears, your distress beacon, and the power the time reset unleashed when we touched. It makes perfect sense.” He paused, waiting on her to put it together herself, but River’s shoulders sagged, and he hastened to explain. “It’s only logical that some of it would be left behind, a slice of time embedded within the only surviving link.”

Her eyes dropped suspiciously to the bowtie “Like an imprint?” Well-manicured nails hesitantly grazed the silk.

 “Exactly like an imprint. A mistaken imprint made by you and me, one that can only be accessed by both of us.” He lifted his end higher and she cupped her hands, letting the fabric pool in her palms.

 “So if we…” She paused, staring at the treasure in her hands before suddenly shaking her head, thrusting it back against his chest. “What’s the point? We married in an aborted timeline, Doctor. I didn’t happen.” She took a step away from him, eyes still longingly focused on the bowtie, aching for the secrets it kept.

“Or,” His jaw twitched, fearing that he was losing this battle. He’d damaged her trust too much already, how could she possibly be expected to give it to him again? “Or, if you like, we married everywhere, every millennia, every location, every, every time, all at once. Aborted timelines are only aborted because no one remembers them. The collective consciousness moves on and segments of the time stream are left abandoned, but if you can remember it, River, then it happened.”

Her eyes lifted to him then, wide and sparkling, a mixture of anguish and passion. They were the same eyes, the Doctor thought, that had glistened at him from across the top of a pyramid, a long, long time ago, in a world that never existed. “Do you want to remember?”

“My dear, I will spend my entire life ensuring that I will never forget.” He lifted his hand then, offering her the bowtie just as he did on top of the pyramid and she took it. She slipped the end around her palm once, then twice, and he did the same until they met in the middle. Then, River curled her hand over his.

The bowtie began to glow, starting first where their hands pressed together, but growing out from there. Shimmering light ran through the fabric, sparkling and dancing. He could feel the energy transfer into heat, warming his palm and running up his arm, and his mind was instantly filled with a golden light that spread warmth through his body—a combination of panic and awe as he was thrown backward into the memory.

_Ok, I’m going to need a strip of cloth about a foot long… Anything will do._ The Doctor turned, clapping his hands. His eyes shifted from Rory and Amy, anything to keep him from having to see River, watching him with a gaze so raw that it hurt him, but even when he wasn’t looking at her he was aware of every movement, every sniffle, every step in his direction. Nobody deserved to be loved this much, least of all him. 

_Nevermind._ He tugged at the knot at his neck and the fabric unraveled, sliding from his collar.

_I consent and gladly give._

_Need you to say it too, mother of the bride._ Honey. It tasted like honey. He wanted to say it again. Bride, _Bride. Wife._ It had a nice ring to it. And River! Watching him, brow raised, eyes wide. He still had a few surprises in there for her, eh? He could already feel the buzz of their shared energy mingling through the tie, could feel the heat of her cheek as he leaned in, and smell the musty odor of ground stone caught in her hair. He’d wanted to stay like this forever.

Can’t. No time. And he panicked a little because he wanted more. More time and there wasn’t any. And wasn’t that always the case? They never had enough time.

_Wife… I have a request…”_ Wife!

_Then you may kiss the bride…”_ And it was electrifying, her hand in his, fingertips buzzing against his wrist, flooding his pulse, synching their hearts. And her lips, the softest ever. Gentle and promising. And he was coming back for her. He would always come back for her. There was no way he wouldn’t, and time started around them, an intoxicating rush as the energy flowed and circled.

The memory faded, the golden glow fading from the bowtie. The Doctor slowly became aware that his arms were full and his chest was warm. Warm breath skimmed his neck. His skin buzzed with time and his lungs burned with the remnant energy of the memory and he knew by the way her hearts thumped against her back that she felt the same.

And then, a pair of soft lips pressed to the side of his neck. “You were coming back.” She spoke so softly that the Doctor almost thought he’d imagined the words.

“You’re my wife, River. I will always come back for you.” She pulled back, just enough to be able to see him fully, her face relaxed and open. A generous smile spread across her lips, and then her lips were on his and a hand pressed to his cheek. The kiss was soft and short and she searched his face before kissing him again. Harder, fuller this time, and the Doctor parted his lips above hers and felt the long form of her tongue loop around his. And oh, she tasted like Gallifrey, like time and energy, like memories.

 She stretched her body along his so that her curves pressed fully against his lean angles, arm wrapping around his neck, nipping at his bottom lip as she broke the kiss, pressing her forehead against his. “Your wife.” She sighed, tasting the words herself, testing the idea.

The Doctor felt himself grin, “Is it really such a strange idea, I wonder.”

“I never thought…” She pulled back to see his face, “I’ve loved you all this time, but I never dreamed… never dared believe…” The Doctor lurched forward, cutting her off before she could complete the thought. A hand curled around the back her head, knotted in her curls. His hearts beat quickly in his chest. His trousers were becoming increasingly uncomfortable and he shifted his weight slightly in hopes of relieving the pressure, but she shifted against him, her thigh running along his erection and he moaned at the contact. Hurried hands ran down the front of his shirt, plucking sporadically at buttons and slipping under the fabric to press warm fingers to his chest.

She tore her lips from his, gasping for air, “I want…” and kissed him again, hard. “I want to be your _wife._ ”

She whimpered when he broke contact, leaning her back and smoothing the hair away from his face in order to look into her eyes, glazed and dark with desire, breath coming quickly through pink swollen lips. He smiled at her, a smile she readily returned. Her first time. Their first time for her, and he cupped the side of her face, releasing a tiny amount of his temporal energy against her skin. She gave a sharp gasp at that, eyes growing wide as the last wisps of blue dissipated into the air.  Her hand wrapped around his wrist, turning her face into his palm and pressing a kiss to it.

He never knew how they made it to their bedroom. One moment they were in the gallery and in the blink of an eye they were tumbling through the door, River falling against the side of the wardrobe and the Doctor struggling to catch her. He pinned her against the solid surface with his body, pressing firm kisses across her jaw, down the side of her neck. His skin was glowing now, a soft blue as the temporal energy ran over the banks of his time stream, seeking its match, and he could feel the transfer, everywhere his skin touched hers. Where his lips pressed against her carotid, tongue flicking out to feel the double pulse points. Where his nose pressed under her ear. Where his cheek lay against hers. River moaned at the unfamiliar sensation, hands shaking against his shoulders.

 There was too much fabric, and his hands, fingers buzzing with energy, had nowhere to go. Finger scrabbled at the sash tied tightly at her waist, tugging first this way and then that in a vain effort to pull her free. And she panted, breath hot in his ear as she urged him onward until the long trail of fabric slipped from around her waist and pooled at the floor. He didn’t bother with the robe, instead, slipping his hands inside. Her skin was powdery soft, absorbing the intense pulse of his temporal energy as his fingers moved up her belly and hips, before settling on her waist.

“You’re hands,” she keened, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders to pull him closer. He could feel her ribcage between his palms, expand and contract with breath, powerful, graceful. “How do you do that?”

The Doctor closed his eyes, pressing his nose into her hair. He’d never had to explain it before, she’d always just known how, and hell if he could think straight enough to put it into words now. “Lean back and close your eyes.” He grunted, hands roaming up and down her body. Her head hit the back of the armoire with a sharp crack and he bent to brace her, leaning his weight into her as one shoulder tucked under her arm, his arm wrapped around her waist. “It’s in your timeline, deep, deep inside.” He voice cracked in her ear before burying his face against her neck, biting and sucking at the soft skin there. And his free hand dropped lower, further still, fingers gliding over her thighs, through the course curls, and finally pressing gently to her core.

“Can you feel it? You’re energy? You’re existence.”

She gave a sharp shake of her head, swallowing against a dry mouth. “No… no… I can’t.” She panted and he kissed her hard to quiet her.

“Nevermind. Not important.”

His fingers slipped lower still and she opened her eyes enough to watch him as he trailed fingers across the sensitive skin of her labia, moving closer and closer to her dampness until he slipped a finger inside, filling what had once been empty. River gave a sharp cry as his energy flooded her body, warming her from the inside out.  He could feel her ripple around his hand, adapting to the new sensation.  He smiled against her neck and added another finger, pressing firmly against her clit with his thumb. She moaned a deep guttural sound emanating from her chest, one that made his erection tighten in his trousers as she hooked a leg over his hips to give him better access to her body.

She gripped to his shoulders with one arm, clinging to him for stability as he set a pace, stroking and pressing at all the right spots, the spots she’d shown him and the ones he’d discovered on his own. He’d memorized them all. And with her other hand she clawed at the wall, searching for something to hold onto, seeking leverage as she struggled to match his pace with her own eager hips.

And my god wasn’t she human, he thought as he watched her, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut, giving him little cries each times his fingers hit that place, that ridge deep inside. The best of all humanity. Courage and fear. Determination and Frailty. Passion. She was the most human of them all.

She came with a shudder, spasming around his fingers, his name on her lips. His arms tightened around her, the only thing that prevented her from sliding to the floor as she went slack against the wardrobe. She buried her face in his neck as she struggled to catch her breath. Gently he bent and lifted her, sweeping his arm under her knees, and carrying her to the bed where he deposited her across the duvet.

She lay spread before him, her robe open at odd angles and exposing bits of flesh, a dusky nipple, the curve of her hip, the glistening skin of her inner thigh. She watched him silently as he stood over her, slipping his arms free of his braces and pulling his shirt tail from his trousers.  The cotton shirt slid from his shoulders, and the hairs on his chest and arms stiffened as the cool air skimmed his warm skin. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, to make use of his shoes.

He felt her leg rise behind him, knee pressing into his back. Her fingers curled around his upper arm, thumb making soft sweeps against his soft skin as she watched him pull off his right boot and toss it to the floor. He shot her a smile over his shoulder as he moved to his left foot. It was a smile she eagerly returned as she sat up, placing a kiss where her hand had been. She trailed a line of kisses along the curve of his shoulder, and the Doctor’s eyes slid shut, head falling forward as she pressed her lips to the nape of his neck. Her tongue flicked out, tasting his skin as her arms encircled him. Nails scraped gently over his chest, marking long lines down his side.

“River,”

Nimble fingers wrapped around the button to his trousers. “Why are you blue?” She mumbled against his back and the Doctor chuckled, head falling back against her shoulder. He could feel her breasts pressing softly against him.

“My temporal energy, all the years I’ve lived, all the years I will live, coursing through my timeline.” She released him from his trousers, snaking a hand inside and pressing against his hardness. The Doctor hissed, raising his hips so that she could tug them off.

She slid around him, tongue gliding over the contour of his shoulder and collar bone as she threw a leg over his thighs and settled herself onto his lap. He could feel her, still swollen and wet, pressing against him.   “But I can see it.”

His hands gravitated to her back, pushing her robe from her shoulders and sending it sliding to the floor.  Fingers glided over taunt skin, dipping along the ridges of her spine, into the grooves her ribs before settling at the curve of her arse. He pressed a kiss to her chest. “Time Lords, River.” He muttered, kissing her once more just above her breast. “Do you think it is as simple as uniting our bodies?”  He claimed her lips, then, sucking her tongue into his mouth and enjoying the feel of it sliding against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, hands tangling in his hair.  She lifted herself on her knees, releasing the agonizing pressure from where she’d been pressing against his most sensitive part and the Doctor couldn’t help but whimper at the loss.

She broke the kiss, gazing down at him. Their faces were inches apart, noses almost touching, and her rapid breath grazed across his skin. The muscles of each exhale rippled under his hand. She lowered herself just slightly, until she was poised over him, the tip of his erection pressing inside of her folds, and he strained with the effort to remain still. “Is that what I feel when you touch me? Your time?” A trickle of sweat dripped from her nose and landed on his cheek.

“All of it, all my time, River. Take it. It’s yours.” She consumed him and he let her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they've made up!!!! YAY!. Thanks to all of you guys for being patient with me and waiting through last week's cliffhanger. Hopefully it was worth it. If you think it was, let me know! I would love to hear from you.
> 
> Now, for a bit of shameless self-promotion. If you are interested in the whole idea of the temporal energy, I've explored it more fully in my fic, Coming Home. You can find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1056335 . 
> 
> XOXO,   
> The Riverwatcher


	9. Gamma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River wrote for hours, maybe even days—the Doctor lost track. It took time, straightening timelines, recalling events, reliving the experiences, and River embraced the process as she did everything else, with abandon. She wrote hunched over her diary, scribbling furiously, mouth moving silently in unison with her hand. She stretched luxuriously across the foot of the bed. She chewed on the end of her hair and sipped greedily at tepid tea. Sometimes he’d catch her staring mindlessly at the wall, others she paced the room. It was all he could do to make sure that she remembered to eat. But she got stronger. Her color came back and her smile came more frequently. The scars on her hand disappeared and her bruises vanished. She laughed.

** Chapter 8 **

Gamma

“Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy”

Anne Frank

****

XXX

The Doctor woke under a heap of blankets, muscled sated and mind cleared. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so soundly, without worry. His skin buzzed, veins humming an intoxicating melody. The first thing he was aware of was the fluff of a pillow pressed to his face. Or rather, he noticed how the pillow _smelled,_ like soft powder and daisies and books stored long on a shelf. Without opening his eyes, he stretched, ankles popping as his feet reached for the end of the bed. His arms wrapped around the delicious pillow and pulled it closer, burying his face into its softness. He’d very nearly fallen back to sleep when he felt soft fingers thread through his hair.

 “River?” He sighed, mumbling into the pillow.

“Shhh…go back to sleep, Sweetie.” She whispered. Her voice, silky and smooth, hummed over him, punctuated by a soft click of a teacup against the bedside table. Without looking he snuck a hand out to her, draping his arm across her lap. Her fingers moved from his hair down his neck, stroking long lines down over his back, nails skimming lightly at his flesh. . His skin prickled and a shiver danced along his spine.

Eyelashes fluttered open against the bed linens and the Doctor peered at her from around the curve of the pillow. She hadn’t noticed that he was awake, and so the Doctor indulged himself the opportunity really look at her. She was sitting up, reclined against all sorts of pillows and blankets. Her diary lay sprawled across bent knees and a pen dangled from slender, ink stained fingers. She stared at its pages with a scowl of determination, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she scribbled furiously at the paper. Beautiful. Simply Beautiful.

“Good morning,” He whispered, lips curling into a brilliant smile, unable to keep the silence any longer.

Her eyes dropped to him then, and if the Doctor thought that she couldn’t get any more beautiful, then he was proven wrong. Her cheeks were full and rosy and eyes bright, a shimmering green that the Doctor thought he might be able to swim in if he set his mind to it. She smiled. The Doctor reached out, running his fingers over the edge of her jaw. “Sleep well?”

She hummed, her satisfaction. “Makes a difference when there’s someone there to chase the demons away.” Gentle fingers brushing his fringe from his face. “Would you like some tea then?” She asked, pressing a kiss to his palm and turning to the teapot sitting idle on her bedside table. Reluctantly, the Doctor pulled himself into a sitting position, shoving a few pillows against the headboard and before leaning back against them in time to accept a steaming mug of tea.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, sipping tentatively at the warm liquid and wincing at the bitterness.

“An hour or so. I don’t really know.” River snatched two more sugar cubes from the nearby dish, dropped them into his mug. “I haven’t really been keeping track.” She watched as he took another sip, this time humming with pleasure and licking the excess moisture from his top lip. She smiled, settling back against her pillows. “Eight.” She whispered to herself and scribbled something unseen in the margin of her diary.

“What are you writing?” The Doctor settled back against the headboard, cupping the cup of liquid warmth in his lap and letting his eyes slide shut. It was a silly question because he knew didn’t he? He knew the stories she collected, the tales she wrote, and the drawings she spent precious hours perfecting.

“Anything.” She answered, attention, having already slipped back to the browning paper in her lap. “Everything. I have lots of different memories floating around unattached, unassociated with anything, Doctor. I thought that if I just started writing… well, maybe I’d be able to piece together the rest of the story.”

The Doctor rolled his head in her direction, gazing at the elegant scribble dancing along a page. He took another sip. “Is it working?”

River shrugged, “I don’t feel any different…. Oh!” She forward a little, quickly flipping back several pages. “But I found this.” She attempted to shift the diary from her lap to his. “It was the last entry.”

“Spoilers, River.” He muttered shaking his head and pressing it back toward her.

“Oh no. Not this time. It’s for you.”

The Doctor paused at that, wondering why on earth a message for him would be written in her diary, but he did not fight when she laid the diary across his lap.

 _Sweetie_ it read, and he smiled. He could hear her voice, velvet smooth, a puff of warm breath in his ear. _Sometimes it takes an archeologist to find what is truly lost. And you say weren’t not good for anything. Tell me to enjoy it, would you? And make sure I don’t lose it again. Expeditions to Fantasia are hard to fund if you aren’t interested in the caves. XOXO, Me._

The note was punctuated by a tiny stick figure with outrageously curly hair grinning at him from the page, and the Doctor could help the silly grin split his lips, or the chuckle that it emitted.

“You’re brilliant,” he hummed, flipping the cover shut and running fond fingers over the familiar binding. “Have I told you that yet?” She blushed, actually properly blushed, and the Doctor thought that it was really the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen.

River wrote for hours, maybe even days—the Doctor lost track.  It took time, straightening timelines, recalling events, reliving the experiences, and River embraced the process as she did everything else, with abandon. She wrote hunched over her diary, scribbling furiously, mouth moving silently in unison with her hand. She stretched luxuriously across the foot of the bed. She chewed on the end of her hair and sipped greedily at tepid tea. Sometimes he’d catch her staring mindlessly at the wall, others she paced the room. It was all he could do to make sure that she remembered to eat. But she got stronger. Her color came back and her smile came more frequently. The scars on her hand disappeared and her bruises vanished. She laughed.

 When she was done writing, the Doctor set aside his own book and tea and curled his body around hers. She lay her head on his chest and he showed her how to lay back and relax her mind. Taught her how to enter her own time stream to manifest her memories. He pressed her hand flat to the page when she made her first imprint and they watched together as the words sprang to life around her hand, dancing and shimmering with meaning. River imprinted until she could not imprint anymore and then she fell asleep, head tucked against the soft pillows and a blue book dropped against her chest.

It was only then that the Doctor pulled himself from the sanctity of their bedroom. He retrieved a pair of trousers from the floor, slipped them on before reaching for a clean shirt. Fingers works along the buttons, his stiff collar turned up and cuffs unbuttoned when he pressed a kiss to her temple and slipped from the room, padding barefoot down the TARDIS corridor.

For once, he didn’t have a plan. No idea for big adventures; no will to make reservations for lunch. He didn’t want to share her so soon, now that he’d only just gotten her back. But his fingers betrayed him, typing in coordinates on their own accords and batting the twizzle into motion. The TARDIS groaned and the time rotator jolted to life. There was a warm and persistent thrumming that crawled just under his skin and sent tendrils of contentment spreading through his muscles. His Old Girl was happy, too.

He wasn’t sure why he chose to come here of all the places in the universe. For all the natural wonders he’d seen—the cliffs of Jafaro and the Canyon at Kysum—there wasn’t anything special about the mountainous forests of Gamma, but somehow it felt right, as if somehow the forest needed to be a part of this journey. Sometimes he thought that Gamma must be the most “home” to River of anyplace in the universe. It was the land that called to her time and again, the place she retreated to heal herself and grow stronger. It was in the trees. She’d told him that once. And the mountains. The water thrummed with life, the same pulse than ran through her veins. He envied her.

The TARDIS landed with a soft shudder, and the Doctor turned, forgetting, once again the environmental check, in favor of the world outside. They were in a valley, with high mountains surrounding them on every side, lush with tall trees and dense vegetation. The ground around them was rocky, moss covered boulders protruded from the valley floor. Small clusters of yellow flowers dotted the earth, nestled into tree limbs or crevices in rocks. Ahead of him was a river, wide and powerful, with smooth, glassy waters that slid by with calming unity. It was morning, pre-dawn, and the land was covered in a faint mist. The Doctor shoved hands deep into his pockets, stepping off of the smooth glass floor and into soft dew covered grass that depressed under his bare feet. _Gamma_. He thought, strolling out into the valley. Perhaps River was right. Perhaps he was the sentimental one.

The Doctor settled himself onto of a large boulder overlooking the river, rolled up his trouser legs, and let his feet dangle into the lazy current. And he just listened. He listened to the sounds of the forest, the soft clacking of moving water, the gentle conversation of unseen birds far in the distance, the quiet. And from his back pocket, the pulled out a small leather bound portfolio, worn and faded after hundreds of years of use. He flipped to the most recent page and took out his charcoal pencil, returning to a sketch he'd begun weeks ago. River as he’d found her at Elion. Tilting his head slightly, he examined the image, remembering the scars and bruises that covered her skin. The vacant stare with which she’d regarded him, convinced her was dead. He could still hear her screams on Fantasia, could still feel her shudder in his arms. Then, the turned the page and began anew.

 He drew her as he’d just left her, asleep and calm against warm blanket and pillows. He drew the smile that tinged her lips and the way her eyelashes burshed against her cheeksHer curls, unruly yet tamed, spread across the pillow and framing her face like a halo. He drew her hands, smooth and nails rounded, tucked under her cheek. This, he was certain, is how he would always remember her. Always remember this moment.

The snap of a twig behind him caught the Doctor’s attention and he turned to see her watching him. She was dressed in a thin robe, barely enough to curtail the chill and her arms were crossed over her chest. “Hello…”  He called.

 Her brow furrowed. “I’m not bothering you am I?” The Doctor laughed, as if she could ever, and scooted over so she had enough room to clamor up the rocks alongside of him. And she did, eagerly, nearly toppling backwards at one point had it not been for the Doctor grabbing her around the waist. When she finally settled herself, she leaned her back against his side for balance, and fell into the same silent trance he’d been enjoying.

 “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.” She sighed, eyes running the tree line, full of lost nostalgia.

  “You spent some of your childhood here.” He stated and River hummed, letting a leg drop to the river underneath them and watching as the water rippled around her foot.

 “Some of my happiest times of my life were here and some of the worst. But let’s not remember those.” She turned to him, shifting so that she could see him over her shoulder. “I got my first taste of freedom in this forest.” He smiled at her. He’d heard the stories. Running wild among the forest dwellers, playing with the other children. She’d once sat in a tree and used a slingshot to daze all the chickens in the village, much to the consternation of the villagers who were afraid a new sleeping sickness was blighting their food supply. River sighed, “What do you think would happen is it just walked into those trees and never came out?”

 “Anything you want…”

 “I could live off the land, eat from the forest, build a house. Spend my mornings drawing water from the river. No one would ever find me out here.”

The Doctor snaked a hand around her waist, leaning forward to press his lips to her ear. “It sounds like a lonely life.”    

She bristled against him. “I could do it.”

“No doubt,” he hummed, “You can do anything, but that’s not for you, River. You’re meant for something more.” He watched her as she returned her attention to the river, drawing her legs before her and curling her arms around them. She looked like a miserable child curled before the window on a rainy afternoon, thinking of all the fun she could have been having if only she could go out.  It wasn’t at all how it was supposed to go. River Song was not caged. She was not trapped. In all the years he’d known her she was anything but a prisoner. River belonged at Stormcage. But she never truly belonged _in_ Stormcage. The bars could never hold her back.

 “You don’t have to go back, you know. Not if you don’t want to.” It was true. His River was serving time for his murder, but it was only one of a million different possibilities, one of a thousand choices that she could make. And that was worth something, too, wasn’t it? Her choice?  Indeed, her choice was more important than his memories.  

She turned to him, lips curled into an impish grin. “You mean jump bail, live life as an escaped fugitive hiding from the intergalactic intelligence agency?” She spoke with a breathlessn excitement she always did when she found something entirely irresistible. “Oh Sweetie, that does sounds exciting.”

“Well, that’s _one_ option. Though not exactly the one I was suggesting,” he rolled his eyes. “I was thinking more along the lines of you walking out of Elion a free woman.”

“And how exactly do you propose I do that.”

“Well, you’ve been arrested for killing the Doctor. But I’m not really dead. They can’t try you for  murdering a man who is not dead, now, can they?” Her eyes narrowed at him, thinking, considering. “We’ll find you a little house on some planet, get you a job. You could be a professor, River! Imagine that, Professor River Song.” 

She flushed then,, “Now that does have a lovely ring to it, darling.” Her smile broadened as she toyed with the idea, hand slipping into his as her foot descended back toward the water. “I wonder what Professor Song would be like?”

“I bet she teaches the most popular classes at the entire university.”

“And has a bed of zinnia’s growing in her back yard.” She gave his hand a slight squeeze.

“And takes cinnamon in her coffee. She enjoys a cup on her porch every night before bed.”

“Take exotic vacations all over the universe where her husband would join her.”

“Of course.” He nodded and his voice softened. “And she spends every Christmas on Earth with her parents.”

She turned to him, eyes bright and wide. “Oh that would be nice” she whispered. And she fell silent, pillowing her head against his shoulder as she lost herself in the dream. Finally, after a long while later, she spoke again more sober than before.

 “They would find me Doctor. They always do, even when I manage to get away, and even if they didn’t, I’d spend my entire life looking over my shoulder, counting my shadows.”  He cringed at her analogy. “Besides,” she turned her head to press a kiss to his cotton clad shoulder before laying her head back down, “what about you?  
   

“What about me?”

 “It won’t change anything for you. They’ll still want you dead, and if I don’t do it, they’ll find someone else. I don’t imagine the next assassin they send will be willing to destroy the entire universe to keep from killing you.”

He smiled at her, his _magnificent_ River. “No I don’t suppose they would.  But you don’t have to do this for me.”

She sighed, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. He could see the gears turning, the calculations she was making in her head as she struggled to make her decision. And then suddenly she straightened, giving a confident shake to her head. “I’m doing this for both of us.” She sighed, “The Silents won’t want anything to do with me now. They’ll have to distance themselves to keep from being implicated in my crime. For the first time in my life they’ll leave me alone. I’ll be free.”

And finally, the Doctor understood that the promise she’d made all those years ago wasn’t just to him, but to herself. By choosing Stormcage she gave herself the best life she could.  And he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him pressing a hard kiss to her mouth.    “Then you have to let me fix it.” He whispered pulling back from her, because there was one more problem, one more riddle that he had never solved. Until now.

River rolled her eyes, pulling herself out of his arms. “Darling I don’t think there is anything to fix. If I enter a plea deal they won’t execute me… shouldn’t at any rate.” She slid from the edge of the rock, avoiding his gaze, anxiety becoming obvious in her nervous energy. She turned and moved along the riverbed, leaving the Doctor to catch up.

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m more concerned with where they send you. River, what do you know about Stormcage?” She stopped then and turned to him as if to reprimand him for being so foolish.

“Stormcage? Really? Doctor, the only people who are incarcerated at Stormcage are white collar criminals convicted of fraud or embezzlement.”

 Truth be told, the Doctor was a bit insulted at her doubt. “There are political prisoners too, and a few revolutionaries.”

River scoffed, “Who? Eduoardo Karnova? Doctor, he was a geophysicicist who successfully constructed an antimatter detonation device that threated the peace of the entire Nikon galaxy. Violence, yes, but brilliant, it’s a bit different than the crime I’m accused of committing.” She turned toward a tree, arms reaching for a nearby limb to test its strength as if preparing to climb away from him. “I’m not Stormcage material Doctor. The best I could hope for is Guantanamo 16.”

For a brief moment the Doctor’s heart stilled in his chest. He stepped closer, pressing a hand to her waist to still her. “River, how much do you know about Guantanamo 16?”

 “Quite a bit actually. I’ve been doing my research.”

“Then you know…”

“About the riots?” She turned back to him, watery eyes set determinedly “about how they mistreat their prisoners? The things they do to them? The solitary cells that no one returns from? Yes Doctor. I know.”

He gave a short laugh. “52nd century. You’d think they’d be a bit more civilized by then.”

“You’d think.”

Her gaze dropped to his hands, watching intently as she picked at the front him of her robe. And the Doctor couldn’t keep himself from curling his fingers under her chin and lifting her face to his. He kissed her, his brave girl, offering all the hopes and promises he didn’t trust himself to try and speak. He filled his arms with her, wrapped them around the curve of her waist and luxuriated in the feel of her breast pressed to his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Neither noticing when the first rain drops began to trickle from the sky.

“I have friends,” he panted, breaking the kiss and gasping into the warm air between them. “I have friends who owe me favors. Big favors.”

“Are you sure you want to call those favors in for me?”

He ran a finger from her brow to the tip of her nose, watching her eyes close at his touch. He’d never understood before, on what tenuous ground they stood. And he wouldn’t let a moment of it change. Not one line. He’d promised“River, there isn’t anyone else worth it.”

She tried to smile, a valiant gesture, but her lips failed her and her chin shook. A tear fell from the corner of her eye. And when she chocked back a sob, he hushed her, covering her lips with his and taking from her everything she offered.

It was raining more heavily when they stumbled back toward the TARDIS. The doors opened for them on the second try because the Doctor’s hands slipped the first time and he fell into her, pressing her against the door. They broke their kiss, both of them gasping as he groped for the handle. It was raining heavy sheets that soaked them both. Drops clung to the Doctor’s hair, dripping off the ends and falling into River’s face. She blinked and tucked her head into the shelter of his chin. Kissing and nibbling against his pulse when the door finally gave way behind her and she stumbled in backwards.

Wet shirts peeled from damp skin. Their bare feet slipped and slid against the glass floor as they struggled for the stairs. River’s robe fell from her shoulders and carpet appeared under their feet. The Doctor’s toes curled into the softness and his hearts race. His mind reeling at the damp softness of her skin, at how it prickled under his touch. Her matted hair, her breasts, her hips. He pressed her against the console, lining his hips with hers and dropped his mouth to her shoulder, nipping at her collar bone and tasting the salt rainwater that mixed with her natural sweetness. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, neck craning to give him better access, and with a sigh and a shudder, the Doctor felt a jolt of electricity through his body, as his muscles warmed. He pulled away from her to find a faint red glow dancing along her skin, tendrils floating off in soft wisps.

“Like this?” She whispered, pressing cupping his cheek in her hand and he felt his timeline swell and bend in her presence. He bent and pressed his lips to her, their temporal energy mingling unabated for the first time, and River whimpered at the sensation.

“Yes,” he sighed, “just like that.”

She spread her hands all over him then, down his back and up his chest. Fingers circled his arms and threaded into his hair. Her lips pressed against his skin. By the time they made it to the bedroom, they’d divested themselves of everything but his trousers and pants, and River’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband, but he tugged them aside to make quicker work of it himself. She fell back onto the bed, watching him intently with a solemn expression a little, but then her eyes lifted to his and she smiled, broad and complete. A smile with no spoilers and no innuendoes. Pure River. Reaching up, she brushed his fringe from his eyes, and a tentative kiss followed. 

“Keep me warm,” she whispered against his mouth, laying back across the bed and pulling him with her.

Hours later, when the rain stopped and the sun streamed through heavy grey clouds, the Doctor reached for his robe and peered out of the TARDIS once more. The storm brought a chill to the air, biting, though the air sat still and heavy against the valley floor. The Doctor pulled the robe closer around himself and darted from the safe warmth of the blue box. He dashed back to the river, jumping over a log and almost losing his footing amid a particularly muddy patch.

When he’d arrived at his destination, the place where he’d sat earlier that morning,  he paused, glaring at the rocks as though they had moved or shifted or were otherwise toying with him. Then he hoped up settling himself onto the same seat he’d once occupied. Looking about himself, hands clasped to his chest, he leaned to the left, eyeing over the edge of the boulder at the muddy tufts of grass. He inclined himself so that he peered over the clear water, rippling along its path. Tutting silently when all he found was rocks, he rotating to his right, and this time he slid a hand along the edge of the rock, discovering a crevice. His fingers curled over the side, sliding along the rock face until they brush smooth leather of his portfolio, dry and safe. The Doctor smiled.

“Oh, you lucky, boy.” River crooned from the bed when she saw him appear with the dry portfolio cradled against his chest.

 “Scoot, scoot,” he answered, rushing through the bedroom door and over to the bed, shivering. “It’s freezing out there.” His fingers went lax when she tried to pull the portfolio away, letting her have her prize in his effort to shrug out of the thin robe and slip back under the blankets.

“Oh, can’t have that, can we?” She giggled, laughing all the more when he burrowed himself under the sheets, and yelping when his cold limbs wrapped around hers. “Doctor!” She cried, failing in her attempt to sound stern as she laughed under his touch. The Doctor slowly crawled out of his cocoon, kissing a trail up her chest and neck before pressing and lingering kiss to her lips. 

 “My turned to keep you warm, yea?” She said pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. The Doctor had to admit, it was a nice way of warming up. He reluctantly rolled over, settling himself against the collection of pillows pressed against the bedstead, and River followed, rolling herself into him and pressing her warm curves against his shivering frame until he shivered no longer.

“It’s a wonder it didn’t ruin,” She said, pillowing her head against his chest and reaching for the portfolio. Her fingers curled over the edge of the front cover. “Can I look?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “River…”

“Please?”

He reached around her for the portfolio. “River it’s not… they’re nothing special.”

“Oh come on,” she tugged the portfolio back. She froze briefly glancing at him over her shoulder. “They’re not spoilers are they?”

“No… they’re not spoilers. They’re just…” the Doctor sighed, noting the look on her face, so young, so carefree. It was if nothing existed for her outside this room, this bed, and he didn’t want to be the one to remind her that they’d have to face the world again, and soon. He conceded. “If it’ll make you happy.” He let go of his end of the portfolio and with a satisfied gleam in her eye, River pressed a hasty kiss to his cheek and settled herself against him, flipping open the cover of the portfolio.

He wasn’t interested in his drawings. Most of them were unimprinted and were likely to remain so, just idle sketches he’d jotted down between adventures. He was interested, however, in making her happy. And so he let her look to her hearts’ content, the sound of shuffling papers the only thing filling the room. The Doctor pillowed his face against her curls, breathing his fill, enough to last until their next meeting.

Suddenly, she tensed and his eyes lashes fluttered open against her hair and he peered around to see the drawing laid across her knees. It was the one from earlier today. River at Elion contrasted with the sleeping River, content and peaceful. The Doctor didn’t say anything. He was afraid to break the silence that had settled around them, but his arms tightened around her as he watched her long, graceful fingers graze over the charcoal lines.

“What will it be like?”  She whispered, so softly that he thought he might have imagined it. The Doctor inhaled, feeling her weight shift over him as she turned to him, struggling to see him over her shoulder. What should he tell her? The truth, he decided.

 “Well, for starters, you’ll have a cell by yourself, which is the way you want it, really. Two people in a confined space, nowhere to go. That’s a recipe for homicide if I ever saw one.” She laughed at that, turning to press a kiss to the center of his chest and wiping it away with her hand before pressing her cheek against his chest, the portfolio fallen to the side, forgotten. His fingers unconsciously threaded through her hair.

“Some cells have small windows.” He added, “But it’s almost always raining.”

“I like the rain.” She sighed.

 “There are warm showers and three hot means a day. Tea, too.”

 “Live in the lap of luxury, I will.” He felt her lips spread against his skin.

“River, it will still be prison.”

  She shrugged against him, “Yes, well, nothing is ever really perfect.” She propped her chin on his chest so that she could smile up at him. “And what about you? Would you ever come to visit me?”

 Oh, my River. His cheeks ached from the smile he gave her. “Every night.” He promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “At least until you tire of my face and want me to find something else to do.”

“Oh, I think I’ll always prefer you to do me, Sweetie.” Her eyes brightened and he flushed the moment the words were out of her mouth. She raised up and kissed his red cheek. “Though I do have to say,” she said, whispering to him in hushed tone s if confessing the secrets of her mischievous soul. “That I find the idea of being a kept woman terribly exciting.”

The Doctor spluttered. “River… You’re not a… a… you’re not _that.”_

“Oh, come now. You put me up in some cushy digs.”

“— prison,  River.”

“Still, it’ll be far nicer than I would have otherwise. I get warm food, clothes, _all_ the free time to read and write I could possibly want, and you get to pop in anytime you like for a shag and a kiss. Sounds like a kept woman to me.” She settled her head back down, giving him a slight squeeze around the waist, “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

The Doctor closed his eyes, feeling her heaviness against his chest as he thought. He thought about all the times he’d seen River, all the times he’d picked her up or dropped her off at her cell. It had always been so matter of fact for her. He might have well been popping up on her front stoop instead of her front bars. The Doctor wondered how much of that was for show, for him. He wondered what she thought the hours between when she was alone for the day. And then he smiled, because he knew no bars could ever hold River Song. She was only ever where she chose to be.

The smile only slipped from his face when River pulled away, sliding from his arms and into the cold air. “River?” He watched as she sat on the edge of the bed and slipped a warm blanket around herself. Honestly the TARDIS could warm herself up a bit if she’d had the mind to do so.

“Should we do something?” She asked, as she stood from the edge of the bed, careful not to let him see her face. “Go somewhere maybe?” She ran an absent hand through her hair, fluffing at the curls and setting at her vanity.

“Where do you want to go?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know…” and picked up a bottle of perfume, covering the neck with the pad of her fingers and shaking the liquid back and forth. “To see a supernova or a once in a lifetime comet, is there a particular constellation your fond of? It seems silly to stay cooped up now when there is all of time and space to be had _._ ” She pressed her fingers to her neck, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She never mastered how to hide the tension in her shoulders, the Doctor thought, watching her. Her shoulders always gave her away.

“Marry me.” The words popped out of his mouth before he was aware he’d even spoken, but even the way River turned to him, eyes wide and confused didn’t dissuade the heavy thump of excitement in his chest.

 “What?”

“Marry me, today, tonight.” In an instant he was off the bed and kneeling at her feet, fitting for a proposal, or so he thought. “We’ll find the nearest April 22, go to every April 22 if you like. We’ll get married over and over. A thousand times in one night, just think of it.”

River just stared at him dumbly. “But Sweetie, we’re already married. There’s no need for us to do it again.”

“My bad girl,” he wrapped his arms around her hips, pressing his chest to her knees. “Did you ever really think that I would be satisfied with a wedding my own wife can barely even remember?”

She bristled “I do remember… most of it.” 

 He gave a sharp shake of his head, “not good enough. Besides you didn’t actually have the opportunity to turn me down the first time did you?”

 River let out have disbelieving laugh, cupping his face with her hands as she bent over him. “You daft man! Do you think I would ever say no to you? In this life or the next?” 

 He grinned that goofy smile he knew she loved, “No, but I think you should have the opportunity.” She stared at him with aw, simple amazement as though she could not quite believe that such a man sat before her. “So?” He asked, clearly waiting for her answer.

She shook her head, steadying her attention. “So what?”

 “Will you marry me?”

 Her laughter was bright, a crisp tune that echoed through the TARDIS, “Need you even ask? Yes,” She said leaning toward him pressing a kiss to his lips, running her tongue along his bottom lip the way that always made him groan. “But Sweetie, where should we go.”

 He reached out and tapped her on the nose, “Spoilers, Song. Now get dressed.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he jumped to his fee.

“What do you want me to wear?”

“I don’t know.” He stumbled across the floor, picking up the remnants of his discarded clothes and shifting through them. “Whatever you fancy getting married in.” He called over his shoulder.  “Not black this time. White maybe? Isn’t that Earth’s tradition?”

 Her brow furrowed, “Me? In white?”

 He flushed, hands fumbling with the clothes he’d gathered. “Red then? Or blue! Women wore gold on Gallifrey.” He swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. Find something you like in the wardrobe. The TARDIS will help you.”

XXX

 He waited for her in the console room, dressed in his top hat and tails, the same set he’d donned when she’d first met him.  He let out a sigh and checked his watch for the sixth time in the past four minutes.

“River!” He called. He wished she would hurry. And yet he didn’t. There was an unusual thumping in his chest that promised only to worsen when he saw her or, rather, when she saw him.

There were a million reasons she should turn him down and have him drop her off on the nearest star transport. There wasn’t one reason he could think of that should make her want to stay.

A soft grunt from on the landing high above him caught his attention, and the Doctor turned. Suddenly, all the thoughts seeped from his mind in the presence of River Song. She shuffled on her feet a bit before smiling nervously.  “Well? Will I do?”   He yelped into action bolting to the other side of the console with the monitor in tow. Unable to resist staring, he clasped a hand over his eyes.

“Oh dear,” she said, coming down off the bottom step, hand trailing behind her on the railing. “Is it as bad as all that?” She smiled. It wasn’t of course. She looked terrific, but she did enjoy watching him babble.

 “No, no, you look… I’m sure you look fine. Amazing!” he corrected himself. He trailed off, separating his fingers so he could look through them. “Just, the Groom’s not supposed to see the bride before the wedding. That’s another of those Earth traditions, isn’t it?”

 She rolled her eyes and padded over to him, bare feet tapping against the glass floor. “Since when have we been one for tradition?” She asked, pulling his hand from his eyes.

He swallowed nervously, eyes running down her long frame and back up again. She wore a floor length evening gown made of silver that glistened gold when she moved. Two thin straps hooked from one shoulder, dropping to the shimmering fabric low across her bust, wrapping it around her body and pooling slightly at her feet.  “Hello, wife.” He whispered.

 River matched his smile, “Hello, husband.”

He parked them on the edge of a mountain, a craggy snow giant that rose high in the sky. In the distance there was the trickle of a little stream as it made it path through the forest. Tree hovered all around and up ahead a little clearing where a stone cliff overlooked the valley. They could see for mile, the gently sloping land, and the flicker of light in the distance, the dark shadows of other mountains sitting silently by. And there in the sky, swirls of purple and orange, pink and amber in the most beautiful array, looming so large that it looked as though they might be able to reach out and touch it.

“The Solar Flares of Nitron.” The Doctor hummed, following her out of the TARDIS. “It’s an uninhabitable planet, too cold, too wet. A few explorers have visited, long after the flares, but as far as I know no one has ever see them before.”

She turned to him,  eyes glistening in the purple swirls. His did too, the Doctor was almost certain of it. “No one has ever given me anything so beautiful in my whole life,” She whispered, pressing at kiss to his cheek. She stepped back, not bothering to wipe away the single tear that clung to the edge of her jaw, instead fussing over the lapel of his suit. Smiling to herself.

“My, you do clean up nicely.” She said, so softly he almost missed it. What he didn’t miss was the slight quiver of her bottom lip before she pursed her lips together. Her eyes lifted to him, then. “Is it the same one?” She asked, gesturing to the bowtie fastened tightly around his neck.

 “Of course,” he grinned, tweaking the familiar fabric. “No need to rewrite everything.” He pulled one end and it unfurled, slipping from his collar as he lifted the other end to her. She watched as the bowtie pooled in her hand before reverently wrapping it around her palm, flexing her fingers to feel the soft silk smooth against her skin.

This time, when she put her hand in his, their touch didn’t threaten to dissolve an alternate timeline.

This time they did the long version. Telling each other things they’d never say to another living soul and using a language long since extinct.

This time they knew what they were walking into and that everything would be alright on the other side.

And this time when he bent to her ear, gently nuzzling his way under her curls, he told her his real name.

He knew she would keep his secret.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow in its original draft this was the shortest of all the chapter, and it became the longest! I have no idea how that happened. Oh, well, the more the merrier I suppose. :) All that remains now is my epilogue, and I hope to have that posted for you guys tomorrow. Thank you so much for reading!  
> XOXO,  
> The Riverwatcher.


	10. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thin layer of snow covered the ground, blanketing the grass, the pavement, the steps all in a pure shade of white. And the snow continued to fall, draping over the two figures huddled on the doorstep outside of the little townhouse with the bright blue door.

** Epilogue **

Home

“Where thou art, that is home”

-Emily Dickenson

 

XXX

A thin layer of snow covered the ground, blanketing the grass, the pavement, the steps all in a pure shade of white. And the snow continued to fall, draping over the two figures huddled on the doorstep outside of the little townhouse with the bright blue door.

Amy huddled closer to River, wrapping the heavy quilt tighter around them as she shivered. “I’ll see him to his next regeneration, I will.” She grumbled.

“Mum, it’s fine.”

 “No, it’s not. He’d only just showed up and off he pops without letting anyone else know.”

“He said he’d only be gone an hour.”

“Ha!” Amy scoffed into the air, bouncing a little to shore up more heat. “I’ll believe that when I see it. You think he’d pick a better time of year though, yea? At least the last time it was a bit warmer. Makes waiting for the blockhead a bit more manageable.” River laughed at that, the tension and strain she didn’t know she’d been carrying melting through her body. Honestly, she should have shivered it away by now.

 They had seen everything, Amy and Rory. They’d heard the front door close as the Doctor bounded down the front steps with the hopes of slipping into the TARDIS unnoticed. They had been watching from the window when River followed, marching across the frozen road in bare feet and no coat. And they had made it to the bottom of the stoop before the TARDIS had even fully vanished, leaving River to make excuses as always.

 “He’ll be back.” River assured them, arms over her chest and gaze dropped to the snow covered ground as she forlornly trekked her way back to them.  Of course he would. He always came back eventually, but it wasn’t the Doctor’s disappearance Amy and Rory were worried about. They’d noticed something was wrong, even if River would admit what. Rory was to reach River, meeting her at the edge of the pavement and wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened at first, but then relaxed, shivering against his chest as she wrapped her arms around her father, slowly melting into his warmth the way only a daughter could.

Amy dashed inside for extra blankets and pillows, promptly drying off a spot on the stoop and plopping down. “He said an hour? Well, then we’ll wait.” She declared, settling herself onto the warm cushions.

 River faked a laugh, reluctantly pulling herself from her father’s warmth enough to see her mother who’d already wrapped herself in so many blankets she was three times her normal size.  “Mother, we don’t have to. It’s Christmas, we should just carrying on with our evening. He’ll get back when he gets back.”

She tried to be rational about these things after all, but it was Rory, more concerned about getting her into his coat, who gave her a tight squeeze, “Is that what you’d really prefer? That we just carry on?” When River didn’t answer he kissed her temple. “Sit next to Amy. You need gloves.”

    Nearly an hour slipped by. River and Amy were still shivering on the front stoop when the door opened and shut behind them, the little knocker rattling on the hinge. “Alright, cocoa for all!” Rory declared, slipping under the edge of the blanket River held up for him. He passed hot mugs down the line, shivering slightly. “I tell you it’s a lot warmer in there than it is out here.” River smiled at him and tugged his knitted hat down over his ears.

“Don’t complain to us, complain to the son-in-law.” Amy said, wincing at her own words and taking a sip of cocoa. “What’s our time?”

Rory glanced down at his watch. “58 minutes 42 seconds.” 

And suddenly as if in a grand display to underscore his kept promise, the screeching of the TARDIS cut through the quietness, marking the Doctor’s arrival.

 “Hullo the Ponds!” The Doctor cried stumbling from the TARDIS and waving to them through the snow.

 “Oi, Raggedy man, you are a lucky man.”  Amy called back to him as he quickly crossed the street. He stood at the bottom of the steps, rubbing his hands together, a gleeful grin plastered across his face as he took them all in, his Ponds waiting for him on Christmas. “We were going to lock you out in about half a minute.”

Rory rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to her. She’s all talk. Never would have happened.”

“Oh I’m sorry, hated to hold Christmas up and all but had some very important business to take care of. A dear old friend of mine was a bit lost” his eyes landed on River before moving on, hands waving in the air. “Anyway, popped in to see her, got a few things straightened out and just dropped her back off at Elion. She promised me she would be alright. I hope she wasn’t lying to me.” He looked back at River who smiled up at him.

 “I’m sure she’s just fine, Sweetie. You can have that effect on a girl.”

 “Well…” he bobbled his head a bit, tweaking his bow tie as Amy shifted her gaze from the Doctor to River and back again. He caught Amy’s gaze and froze, dropping his hand. “Well, then. Who’s ready for Christmas? Tell me you saved the carols for me. Oh I hope you save the carols.” They all clamored to their feet then, gathering pillows and blankets and mugs of hot cocoa as they headed inside.

 “Oh my god, it’s so warm in here!” Amy cried over her shoulder disappearing into the den with an armful of blankets. “I’m telling you, Raggedy Man, 30 seconds more.” Rory followed her, but a hand wrapped around River’s arm held her firmly in place.

“How are the memories then?” he asked, voice lowered, eyes watching the doorway to make sure they were still alone. She hummed.

 “All as they should be, my love. Well done.”

“Nothing different, nothing lost?” She shook her head and he let out a shuddering breath. Shoulders sagging. “I thought I might have… I thought I lost you there.” And there were her arms, wrapping around him, just as he remembered them, warm and soft even with the remnants of snow clinging to her coat.

 “I know.” And just for a moment he allowed himself the privilege of pressing his forehead into her shoulder. “But you didn’t. Nothing changed. Not one line.” She pulled away from him then, and offered him a sip of her cocoa which he accepted gratefully, humming at the richness and licking his lips. And then, as if it has skipped his mind:

 “I have a present for you.”

“For me?”  

He dug deep into the pocket of his tweed and pulled out a long strip of silk. A bowtie. And how her eyes lit up when she saw it. “Oh, I haven’t seen that in ages,” she breathed, holding her hands out to him and letting the fabric dangle against her palms, feeling it glow with the imprints of their weddings as it sat suspended between their hands. Finally, the Doctor let it go and it raveled into her hand  

“You asked me to keep it safe until you got to where you were going.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, rising on the balls of his feet. His dark eyes sparkled and twinkled and a fond smile played on his lips. “I wonder, River, have you gotten there yet?”

River stared at the pool of fabric, curling her fingers around the silk and feeling it solid in her hand. She nodded, lifting her eyes to him.

“Yes,” she beamed, “I believe I have.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hello, old friend, and here we are. You and me on the last page." I want to thank you so much for taking this journey with me, for reading my story, and sticking it out to the very end. I hope that you've enjoyed it. I hope that it's added a little brightness to your lives, and I hope that you've caught yourself wondering how our dear characters were faring between all the chapter updates. I you have, I'd love to know. Until the next time...  
> XOXO,   
> The Riverwatcher

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for sticking around to the end! This work has been a great labor of love for me and I hope to have the next chapter up sometime next week. Until then, I would love, love, LOVE (!) to know what you think.  
> Best,  
> The Riverwatcher


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